NewLife, Take Two
by ObsessedRomantic
Summary: Second in the Townwood Estates AU, sequel to 'Experience'. The boys move to Newport to start again and Ryan becomes more involved with certain of it's residents than he should. R/females.
1. New Place

**NEWLIFE, TAKE TWO **

**Summary: ** Being the next story in the Townwood Estates universe, sequel to 'Experience'. Spencer and Ryan move to Newport to start again, becoming more involved then they should with some of it's residents. R/misc females.

**Disclaimer: **Despite my promise to be nice (in the other universes, if not here) I still don't own anything to do with the O.C. or any of it's characters or, really, anything you might recognize here. Just writing for fun and feedback.

**Warning: **Contains Slut!Ryan and adult themes.

**A/N: **Anyone who reviews gets a free smut bunny! B/C Waltzy sicced them on me and the horny little buggers bred and it's getting to be like that tribbles epi on classic Star Trek………which may explain certain parts of this fic …….

--xxx—

''Here we are.'' It was still dark out, sky only starting to turn a paler shade of black, when Spencer spoke the first words in the car since he'd told me where we were going (generally speaking). The specific was before me, and it was pretty weird.

The borrowed truck was pulling into the driveway of a two-story mansion with white stone walls, classic arches, and a roof of orange tiles. It would've been impressive, if every other 'house' in this gated community wasn't a variation on the same design. It looked as if the architect who'd designed this neighborhood had liked one version so well, he just did it over and over again, making little changes in the layouts (front door was on different sides of each place, for instance) so he could claim to be designing 'individual' homes.

. Either that, or he was just lazy.

''We hiding out with one of yours?'' Hopefully so. Strange as it would be for a customer to take us in, it would be apocalyptically worrisome for this to be our new base of operations. Putting aside the obvious money issues; it would be far, far too noticeable, and notice was something we were trying to avoid. Two young guys, within a decade (or less) of each other who looked nothing alike, claiming to be 'brothers', living together (with no girlfriends around) and being secretive about where they spent their evenings? Yeah, people would think **that** was 'normal', all right; no one would give us a second look.

''Not exactly.'' Spencer pulled out the garage-door opener and pushed it, letting us into the empty structure. The sarcastic son of a bitch who lived in my head had several choice observations about my partner's intelligence (low) and genetic background (chimps, mostly) that I had to fight pretty hard not to voice. **This** was his great plan? Max would pick up our trail by the end of the week, just off the huge splash moving in here was gonna cause. ''Come on into the living room, it's time for that talk.''

It most certainly was, and I tried to ignore the tightening of my stomach when he pulled out a set of keys and opened the door with them. A knot that got tighter when I saw that the place was pretty much furnished. It all looked new, too; and I had a suspicion I knew where he'd been spending his time, this last week. And spending all out hard-earned money, too; from the look of the audio/visual equipment. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and seriously considered freaking out. Spencer didn't **spend** like this, he was very thrifty (without being a Scrooge or anything) and never shelled out for stuff that was fancier than we really needed. That was how half the guys (and girls) in the biz got caught, living above their apparent means; so unless he'd won the lottery without telling me, someone else was calling the shots, moneywise. Which in our line of work could only mean one thing.

He was working for someone, had signed on with a 'manager'.

''Who is it?'' I knew it wasn't Max, Spencer would rather drive us both over one of the nearby cliffs than see either of us anywhere **near** Max. That didn't mean it was anyone I wanted anything to do with, though. I finally had control over my life and I wasn't about to give up being a freelancer to work for anyone. My friend sighed, dropping himself bonelessly into the armchair. I sat cautiously on the couch. Not because I was afraid of him or scared the furniture (solid looking oak and leather) wouldn't support me. No, I was still wearing my stripping gear, and didn't want the embarrassment of my clothes coming off to postpone this discussion.

''Remember Tina?'' I sure did, and my gut twisted tighter, with that little swirl of guilt that occurred whenever I remembered her wedding rings, gleaming at me accusingly from the edge of the sink. Nausea fought arousal, as I remembered not only her blow-job skills (amazing) but that the woman was usually my distraction fodder for 'payoff' time with Oliver. Pushing thoughts of the faggot psycho aside, I groaned, slumping back into the folds of the couch.

''Spence, Tina's a freak.'' There was no arguing with that, and he knew it. The woman had more kinks than your average Afro, with the money to see them satisfied. I rubbed at my face with my hands. I hoped she hadn't had anything to do with this 'escape plan' of my 'brother's'; the woman was about as subtle as a train wreck.

''Yeah, which is why she had to go to L.A. for her fun. Her usual contact, here in Newport, didn't have anyone willing to double-team her.'' Okay, that (if it was true) relieved most of my concerns. One, the contact didn't make anyone do anything against their personal set of rules (hence the 'willing' part of the sentence). If we could trust this person to stick to those principles, this wouldn't be so bad. Two, a two-guy-one-girl three-way was considered to be such a twist, in this place, that 'Tina' had been moved to go to Los Angeles in search of her thrill. That meant most of the jobs would be vanilla, the biggest danger about 'working' here **might** just be boredom. And three, if there was still no one willing to do double-teams, then Spence and I could really clean up. So the only problem remaining was the concept of working for someone else.

''I dunno.'' Working for a pimp or a Madame had always struck me as stupid, and my partner wasn't stupid. So why were we here? Having this conversation? How did _this_ help us hide out from Max? Spencer leaned his head back, closing his eyes tiredly. It occurred to me that I was being a little selfish, concerned over my career and the niceties of what I was willing to do while he'd been scrambling to protect us both from a literal fate worse than death. ''Is there a strip club?'' His mouth quirked a little, probably at the eagerness of my tone. I couldn't help it. It was Saturday night (well, technically, early Sunday morning) and I was used to enjoying the rush of my stripping fix (two sets in front of the screaming crowd) by now. My body was throbbing, and not just from the stress.

''I'll have to ask.'' That didn't bode well, that he'd been in such a hurry that he hadn't checked. Although, it couldn't have been **too** much of a hurry, to get this place set up. Something about the worried quality of my silence (or maybe because he wanted me to have all the facts) spurred him to continue. ''Max has my real name.'' Oh **shit**. He was so screwed. Even the best false identity would eventually crumble, and there was no way he dared to use his real one; not with **that** woman on the lookout for him. ''She doesn't have any of my working monikers, or either **one** of your names, by the way; but she **does** know we've been hanging out. I think she assumed I was setting up a stable.'' Yeah, that would be a theory the bitch'd come up with. Her knowing his real name was the more worrisome aspect, to me, though. How the hell had ………?

Shit, shit, double shit. Piled up to the Rockies and beyond.

_**Oliver**_.

A surge of killing rage pushed me off the couch to stand, hands fisted, glaring away from my friend at the front door. I could see myself running out of it, finding a way back to L.A., tracking the son-of-a-lying bitch down and strangling the life out of him. All this time, **all this time**; I 'd been paying the fucker off and he'd ratted my partner out, anyway, the asshole. Next time I saw him, I'd grab him by the throat instead of the hair and…….wait a minute………wait a **fucking** minute. I started to smile, glad my face was turned away, so my friend wouldn't ask why I was grinning so widely.

What 'next time'? There wasn't going to **be** a 'next time'. In our running away from the bigger threat, we'd left his little blackmailing ass in the dark as well. It was _over_, and no one had to go to jail, or get killed, or do anything too depraved. I hoped he'd enjoyed those three blowjobs he'd given me, because it was over, and I was free. I was pulled out of that euphoric thought by Spencer's voice.

''Our cover is that I hit it big in Vegas and came back to take care of my illegitimate half brother. There was some problems, because_ your_ mother had died while I was away; but after a trial period, they agreed to give 'Trey Atwood' custody of his brother, 'Ryan' and we moved in a few weeks after that.'' He really sounded wiped, and a little depressed. I guess he figured one of his friends at the country club had ratted him out. I wished there was a way to ease his mind without telling him about Oliver, but there wasn't, and no** way** was I ever 'fessing up to that hellish experience; was gonna do my best to forget it entirely, in fact.

''That's a good one.'' I could tell the truth in such a way that people would assume the rest of the story for me. Lying without lying, my partner called it. Since Max didn't have **my** name, she'd never be able to find us working here; especially with ……''Shit!'' He sat up and looked around wildly, frowning at me when he saw that I wasn't upset or hurt. ''Spencer, it's brilliant!'' He was still scowling at me and I reminded myself that he was probably too wiped from the stress and the drive to realized I'd figured the best part out. ''Signing on with someone else is the** last** thing Max will expect us to do. She'll look for us to stay freelance, maybe even go our separate ways.'' The last of my nervous tension drained away. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

''True enough.'' He stood, stretching a bit as he yawned. ''Look, Ry, I'm beat. When I get up, I'll call the boss; let her know we've moved in. There's a party at the country club around seven; if you decide you want to get a look at her, be back by then.'' He headed towards the stairs, paused. ''I turned the master bedroom into a gym, your room is on the left….'' He motioned to the stairs, shrugging. ''…..wear a suit if you're coming to the party.'' He was pretty relaxed, he must have a lot of faith in this woman. Or maybe he was just exhausted.

I grabbed some of my stuff from the truck and went upstairs to find 'my' room. Spence was passed out, face down on the bed in the room to the right. Shaking my head, I slid into the room and found a blanket to shake out over him. Crossing the hall to the other room, I wondered who'd look out for him those rare times his common sense went lacking (like tonight, passing out cold without covering his shirtless self) if I passed on this deal. The room was nice enough (put me in mind of an up-scale hotel), a little bare, which I suppose was only to be expected. I stripped off my gear and grabbed some stuff for a shower, padding down the hall bare-assed. Living with the guy for as long as I had, doing the kind of work we usually did, and it wasn't really that amazing how few issues about nudity I had left.

The bathroom was nearly a religious experience. My first thought that it was just shy of being opulent, my second was that I liked it. I'd only seen places like **this** on television (MTV cribs, stuff like that) or in magazines (Better Homes, Architectural Digest, etcetera). An actual Jacuzzi tub took up most of the floor space, one half of a wall was mirrors (above the two sinks), and the shower's hydraulics had to be experienced to be believed. All of it in a faded teal and beige pattern that I guess was supposed to imply the seaside but just looked like swirls to me. It was kind of soothing, actually. At least the faucets weren't shaped like shells or gilded gold or something.

When the hot water hit and my muscles started to loosen back up (it'd been a stressful couple of hours since I'd left the club) I began to have trouble thinking. My usual routine for Sunday (even as early as it was) had me either running, riding, or 'working' off the charge of my stripping high. Blood was pounding in my ears, my skin felt alive and electric. No way I'd be able to reach any kind of sensible decision in this state, time to take matters in hand, as it were. I hadn't actually** had** to do what I was about to do for months. Didn't mean I'd forgotten, how, though.

Some things, a guy just doesn't forget.

I slicked my hand with soap and wrapped my fingers gently around my cock, sighing a little at the pleasant sensation. As tension relievers went, this beat smoking, drinking, or drugs hands down. Sex was great and all, but sometimes nothing beat good ole reliable Rosy Palm and her five nimble sisters. Rhythm was easy to establish and there were no demands for foreplay or false romance. I didn't have to concentrate on anyone's pleasure but my own as my hand stroked faster and faster, rushing me towards easy completion. So maybe I took advantage of my solitude for a couple more (satisfying) rounds, that was all right.

Rosy understood.

In a much better (or at least, more relaxed) frame of mind for thinking about my future, I finished rinsing off, toweled dry, and got dressed in my old stomping gear (sneakers, jeans, jacket over wife-beater). Prying my bike out of the truck, tucking the extra keys into a pocket; I glanced around the still darkened streets, choosing a direction for my explorations at random.

Time to see what Newport was like, the morning after.


	2. New Faces

**A/N: **For my Core Four, for all their support.

--xxx--

Newport was a very pretty place; all manicured lawns and sparkling clean sidewalks. Everywhere I looked in the pre-dawn grey was perfection: perfect homes, perfect cars, perfect little boob-jobs……. I smiled inside my hoodie as the joggers went jiggling past me, their whispers carrying clearly to where I was leaning my forearms on the rail to watch the sunrise. 'Sex on legs' that was a new one. Watching them go was better than watching them approach, what with the absence of silicon in the retreating asses of my Lycra-clad admirers. I was trying to think with the head on my shoulders (not the one between my legs), though; so I moved off in the opposite direction.

I'd decided to watch the sunrise both as a new experience (since I was usually asleep or working at this time of 'day') and as an aid to my thinking. Lots of people waxed poetic about sunrises making issues more clear, maybe it'd work for me? I doubted it. I knew what my problem was: the loss of freedom, of **choice**. Years of experience had shown me that **no one** could be trusted with control over any part of my life. Anytime I had let someone else call the shots, it turned out for the worst. Oh, they started out okay, saying they wanted to 'help', wanted 'what was best' for me. What they **meant** was that they wanted me to conform to what **they** thought I should be, what** they** thought I should do. Eventually, they got insistent about it and, when I still wouldn't knuckle under; **then** it was punishment time. Physical, verbal, removal of privileges (like sex or music or even food); it didn't matter. When I 'failed', it wasn't **their** fault for trying to force me to be something I wasn't, become someone I didn't like. It was **mine**, for 'not listening' or 'having attitude'.

A coffee cart was opening to a brisk business and I joined the line, glancing around at my (now pink-tinted) surroundings. The jolt of caffeine would be good for my higher brain functions, I figured; not to mention warming. Even in California, early mornings were sometimes a bit chilly, and my fingers (the only part of me not at least partially covered by cotton or denim) were nearly numb. A figure sitting alone on a bench towards the end of the pier drew my attention. It was a girl, wearing one of those heavy sweaters that would be classed a bathrobe if it was longer (cardigans, I think they're called) and staring out at the sunrise with an air of total peace. Her hair (brown?) hung in straight lines to just below her shoulders, her posture was like something out of a textbook on manners. Possessed of a sudden urge to see her face, I paid hurriedly for two plain coffees and went over.

I was interrupting her solitude, I was thinking; least I could do was buy her a coffee.

She didn't let me, though. Oh, she didn't leave, or grab the coffee and toss it or anything. She just held up a hand to stop my opening remark, never breaking her serene gaze out over the ocean. Her movement wasn't imperious or demanding; just a polite (though silent) request to leave the moment unbroken. I could understand that. The girl obviously didn't want her feeling of peace disturbed, and since it was that sense of serenity that had drawn me over here in the first place, it'd be pretty stupid of me to do so.

Besides, my mind had gone blank the minute I saw her profile, so I could use the time to think of something non-retarded to say.

I sat on the bench, setting the coffees on the ground (reminding myself not to kick them over) and pulled my hoodie off my head, directing my own gaze to the sea, hoping I could see in the view the things that were giving her that air of unshakeable peace. The sun rose slowly, painting everything with rose, then gold, then it's normal pale whiteness. Joggers, cyclists, and power-walkers became more prevalent, surfers and other beach enthusiasts were revealed among the brightening waves; I turned my head to see what was being revealed next to me.

Her hair wasn't brown, after all. Strands of fiery copper, gleaming bronze, and shining gold blended into auburn above the inches still shadowed from the sun into an illusion of brown by her shoulders. The lines of her face put me in mind of those marble statues I'd seen in the magazines at the library, or of that painting with the smiling lady, Mona or Louisa (some name ending in 'a'). A lot of guys wouldn't have called her beautiful; she lacked the high cheekbones of the scrawny model set and the luscious curves of the bimbos most people thought of as 'sexy'. She **was** though; beautiful** and** sexy (her lips alone were making my mouth water)………

And she had the most luminous pair of hazel eyes I'd ever seen, with tiny flecks of gold, deep down, and this little curl at the outer edges that wasn't quite a slant, but couldn't be due to mascara (because I didn't think she was wearing any) and fake lashes quivered a bit when the woman blinked, like she was…….

……she was……..

She was looking at me.

Well, that explains why the view of her face is so good, my mental asshole remarked. (shut up) Say something to her, stupid! I swallowed, trying to pull myself up out of her gaze. Before I could manage that feat, she scrambled my brains all over again.

She spoke.

''Is that coffee?'' Coffee? Right, the coffee. I carefully retrieved the cups, holding the warmer one out to her. Damn, but that was a voice made for sultry whispers in the dark, as well as anything else she wanted to say. I'd listen to her read a phone book, tell the truth. ''Wait, you didn't get sweetener, did you?'' She peered into the cup as if she could tell by looking, nose crinkling in this cute way that made me wonder if it did that when she laughed (and thinking of her laughing made me want to smile, for some reason). ''I read that aspartame has more deadly chemicals than rat poison………'' Why did I get the feeling that she'd go on (if I let her) to tell me more about coffee and it's additives (sweeteners, creamers, etcetera) than I'd ever want to know?

''No, it's black.'' Having spoke, I searched desperately for something else to say. Something to make her smile? I wanted to see her smile, of a sudden. ''Didn't even spit in it.'' Oh,** that **was charming. Real smooth, jackass.

''Good.'' She was smiling! Okay, so it was more of a grin, and it was hidden by the coffee cup, but she was_ sort _of smiling. I was so busy congratulating myself, I almost missed her standing up, turning to go.

''Hey.'' I protested, rising as well. Not that I expected anything from buying her coffee, but she didn't have to rush **right** off, did she? She bit her lip, and I was enthused to see the reluctance as she paused. Hazel eyes captured me again, holding me in place.

''We've shared a sunrise, that's my 'senseless beauty'. '' There was a slight blush creeping across her skin as she spoke (a trifle breathlessly) and I wondered what was bothering her. A discreet glance down confirming that I wasn't hanging open, and was thankfully not hard enough (yet) to create a noticeable bulge; so **that** couldn't be it. ''You bought me a coffee, that's your 'random kindness'.'' Something about that phrasing was familiar, but I couldn't place it in the swirl of fear (that she had a boyfriend) and desire (just to see her smile, one more time) alternatively cooling and boiling my blood. ''Unfortunately, I have so much to do to prepare for end of freshman year; there's homework and…..'' Well, that was good news; she was my age, or close to it. Bad news, though; she was already making the 'I'm busy' excuse.

At least she didn't say she had to wash her hair.

''So let me call you.'' I was reaching for my phone before I remembered that it was in pieces, back in Paradise Hills. She started off again as I was (only a_ little_ frantically) searching my pockets for something to write with (and on). She wasn't running, but she moved pretty quick, and I had to find a bin to toss my coffee; so I didn't catch up to her until the parking lot. ''At least tell me your name.'' I put a hand on the door of her car, next to the handle (trying not to think of how pathetic I sounded), facing her down in what I hoped was a friendly manner. I wasn't really blocking her, she could easily open the door if she wanted; but she paused again, staring at me with those terrific eyes. I could see her weighing the decision, and pressed what I thought was an advantage. ''Just so I can say something more original than 'hey, you'; next time I see you.'' And I **would** see her again, I determined. She made me feel wild and feverish with an energized peaceful calm, and I wanted to see if **she** was feeling anything like that, and if there were _other_ things we could make each other feel.

''I don't know, I'm feeling very mysterious today.'' There was a teasing glint to her smile and I grinned back, enjoying the flirt. I was thinking about leaning in, curious about how she smelled (great, I bet) when she pulled on the door, startling me into stepping back. ''Maybe next week?'' She was more than a little nervous, I saw, and I suddenly realized what it looked like. Some random guy buys her a coffee, stares at her like a moron, and then practically chases her across the pier, trying to get her phone number.

''Next week.'' I agreed, wondering why she wasn't more used to guys chasing after her. Maybe she went to an all-girls school or something. I didn't want to bring it up, for fear she'd cancel on the creepy stalker guy I was coming off as, and I didn't want to cause her to switch to another spot (maybe somewhere I couldn't find her) for her 'senseless beauty'. She remained silent as she got into her vehicle, but her wave as she pulled out was cheerful.

I don't know how long I stood there, staring fixedly in the direction her car had gone, planning what I'd say, next Sunday, when I saw her again. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since an early Saturday dinner, over twelve hours ago. There didn't seem to be anything open on **this** pier, so I retrieved my bike from where I'd chained it and set out. Halfway to the next pier, where I could see some kind of restaurant admitting people; I realized that I'd somehow decided to stay in Newport. Examining my reasoning (because the girl wasn't anything I was telling Spencer about), I figured that I was staying to support my 'brother', to use the safety of our new situation to build up some (major) cash; maybe even to take advantage of the (sure to be) better educational opportunities available here.

Yes, **those** were the reasons that I was staying; because it was the best plan of action to keep us safe and solvent.

**Not** because of the girl, or the connection I thought I'd felt, throughout our brief encounter.

No, not because of **her**, or her voice, or her legs, or her quirky nature, or her fantastic ass, or her face or lips or hair……..

……or her **eyes**……..

Fortunately, the wind shifted just then, bringing the smell of fried batter and grease and blocking thoughts of _**her**_ in favor of my rising hunger. I secured my bike, mentally calculating the money I had on me versus how hungry I was. Damn, I hoped Spencer had stocked up on groceries (or would remember to do so) or I'd blow through my spending money, just eating. Every table or booth had at least one occupant, and most of them weren't people I'd want to share the restaurant with, let alone a meal. Business types on their way to work, yuppies 'working out', surfer jocks horsing around, trendy types ordering their food by the ounce; spare me. I was starting to think that I'd have to wait until a table cleared when I saw him. A kid about my age (his clothes and build almost **screamed** 'geek') sitting slumped down in the corner booth, fiddling with the menu as he pretended to read it. He had a stack of comic books (which my partner snobbily despised, but which I desperately missed) by his elbow and an expression of resigned misery on his face.

''You mind?'' I kept my face still, not reacting to his flinch, or to the way he looked around, obviously trying to spot my 'friends'. Seeing that I was alone and sincere in my desire to eat (just to eat, not to 'so something' to him) he nodded permission for me to join him.

''I don't think I've seen you around?'' He asked, setting the menu aside as I sat down. My movements were slow and careful, more to do with my guesses about why he was wearing long-sleeves than any muscle stiffness. I didn't need him cringing away from me during the meal, putting me off my food. ''Do you live in the numbered streets?'' Numbered streets? Streets.

''Shit.'' I'd forgotten, in my distracted state, to take note of where I was living. That is, I could **get** there, but I had no idea of the street name, or the house number, or any of that stuff. I sighed, shook my head, frowning as I tried to remember if I'd seen any street signs. ''I dunno, we just moved in.''

''That's cool, I mean, I hope that it's cool, and that you didn't have to move because …... I mean, welcome to Newport?'' He fidgeted with his silverware, greeting the waitress with blatant relief. He didn't sound like he was happy, living here; and I thought I could guess why. I tried not to let my jaw tighten at the things people got away with, just because they were 'acceptable parents'. I hoped to hell he was adopted, that his **real** parents weren't doing this to him, making him shy away from people. The waitress bustled off, presumably to fetch my orange juice and give the cook our orders. It was a little crowded, so I told my stomach to be patient and stuck my hand out over the table. I wasn't gonna sit here feeling like a bully the whole time. Maybe if I introduced myself, showed I wasn't a threat; he'd relax a little more.

''Ryan Atwood.'' He blinked at me for a few seconds before smiling, grabbing my hand with more enthusiasm than strength. Relax a little more, hell; the guy acted like he'd just been presented with a long-lost brother. I hoped his quick decision meant that he was an excellent judge of character, and not that he was pathetic and lonely, with no friends.

Of course, I was one to talk. The only friend I had was my business partner. We didn't exactly 'hang out'.

''Seth Cohen, pleased to meet you.'' Seth let my hand go after a few seconds, glancing around in obvious desperation for something to talk about. I shifted my gaze (hinting strongly) to his stack of comic books; a good move, as he instantly started talking about them. In massive detail. Which I didn't mind, really; because I'd missed several issues (sometimes people swiped them from the library before I could read them) and it was nice to have someone catch me up who didn't get pissed at me, like the guy at the comic shop had. Although that **may** have had more to do with my not buying anything then with the gaps in my knowledge of current story arcs.

He declared my 'brother' a 'philistine' for not liking the 'graphic novels', or video games; both of which factored heavily into this kid's life. The more he talked, the more I liked him; and not just because he invited me over to read his back issues and play Grand Theft Auto. No, I liked how he treated me, like I was just a kid, no different from him. Even though he was pretty much carrying the majority of our conversation; I bet he'd listen, if I decided I wanted to talk. He had that feel about him (like a puppy wagging it's tail), like he really wanted to be friends.

It would be nice to have a friend; someone I could just hang out with and act my age, be a kid for a change. It was hard, trying to be a responsible adult at sixteen; sometimes I just wanted to relax and do something stupid. Play video games, eat junk food, read comic books, watch movies and make stupid comments; all the stuff my partner looked down on as 'juvenile'. I think he forgot, sometimes, that I was just a teenager. Maybe it made it easier for him to accept my 'working', if he though of me as older. He probably felt guilty for 'dragging me into this', so he lightened the load by mentally aging me three or four years.

**Seth**'s mental age, however, appeared to be maybe eight or nine. Not that he was retarded or 'slow' (the guy was most likely smarter than me), it was more like how he _acted_, his emotional age. His parents must have the patience of saints (which told me I was probably wrong about them) to put up with his rambling self-involvement. No one in a domestic abuse situation talked about their abusers with that clear a gaze or that affectionate a tone. It was most likely the kids at his school. Teenagers (**any** group of kids, really) had a real problem with people who were the least bit different; and if there was **one** word you could use to describe Seth, it would be 'different'. My theory became full-blown certainty when a group of other kids (jocks, by the look of them) came noisily in and seated themselves at a window booth.

''Shit.'' My new friend was hunched in his seat, obviously hoping they wouldn't see him. He slid the comics we'd been discussing into his knapsack and zipped it quietly closed; the moves of someone who'd had his books (comic or otherwise) mangled too often to leave the jerks another opportunity. All the animation that had been lighting his face went out, snuffed like a candle by the presence of our peers. I pulled my hoodie up, tilting my head towards the back door as I stood. Seth's brown eyes lit back up and he trailed eagerly after me towards the exit.

''Hey!'' The yell came just as I was about to put my hand on the door handle, and I had to strangle the urge to smart off to the waitress who directed us snottily to the ''Front door!'' We might've made it, regardless; if his skateboard hadn't caught on the edge of the bus-boy's tray. None of the dishes broke, luckily, but it attracted the attention of the bored jock assholes. Not good, as the favored pastime of bored jock assholes was harassing other kids.

Kids like Seth.

''Nice one, Cohen.'' Taller than me, blonde, with that overly muscled physique that I thought of as 'beach brain'; he seemed to be the ringleader of the group. Most of the rest were 'followers': guy's who'd run at the first hint of trouble, or when their tiny minds refocused on other matters (like shaving their knuckles). The tallest of the bunch was the dangerous one, his light brown hair cropped short into a crew cut (as opposed to the floppy 'beach style' the others had) and I made a mental note of his face. When someone was different and **still** managed to be popular; that was a _**bad**_ sign. ''Real graceful! I thought you queers were supposed to have good moves!'' My sigh of exasperation at the idiotic insult was muffled by the renewed snickering from the jerk's friends.

''Well, at least I don't shave my chest.'' Great, Seth was suicidal. He didn't even make it three steps towards the door before jock-boy reached to grab him. I yanked my new friend out of way, planting myself firmly in between the two.

''Who the fuck are you?'' Jock-boy looked confused, a state I was willing to bet he spent a lot of time in. Crew-cut stood; at least **one** of the group had recognized me as an actual threat. This was gonna have to be quick, before they got a chance to gain up on us, or the dangerous one got a chance to make his move. Fortunately, while he probably wasn't much in a fight; I was pretty much certain that the Cohen kid was fast on his feet. Someone that quick with his mouth (and not in a coma) would just have to be. '' Little far from Eight Mile, aren't you?'' I kept my face poker-smooth as the taller blonde tugged my hoodie down off my head, despite the surge of irritation over the Eminem reference. Everyone was always saying how our lives were** so** similar (some people even claimed there was a resemblance) and it **always** drove me nuts, because (in my opinion) the (weasel-faced) guy's music **sucked**.

''You know what I like about rich kids?'' I asked Seth over my shoulder, gaze fixed forward, still not giving any clue about my intentions with either voice or expression. I was a blur of motion, the blow connecting with a solid _crack_. There was a satisfying throb to my right knuckles, Jock-boy went down across the booth's table without any problem, helpfully blocking Crew-cut as he fell. ''Nothing.'' I smirked, before turning and running out the door.

''That was **awe**some!'' Seth enthused, closing the door after me and shoving his skateboard through the handles to hold it shut. Even the death threats being shouted through the windows didn't dampen his energy as he waited for me to scramble my lock open. We were half way down the pier (with him standing on the bolts to the rear wheel's axle) before the jocks thought of using the other door to chase after us. I couldn't help laughing with him as we made our escape, leaving them glaring ineffectually after us.

Most fun I'd had (with my clothes on) in a** long** time, maybe **ever**.

When we hit the first hill, he politely hopped off to walk, and I matched his civility by pushing my bike along beside me instead of riding it. He returned several times to the subject of 'rich kids', seeking reassurance that I didn't include him in that group, about which I liked 'nothing'. He was nervous about going to school the next day, facing those guys without me there to 'have his back'; so I offered to show him 'some moves' and somehow got talked into meeting him on campus for lunch and hanging out after classes so he could 'pay me back' by showing me around Newport. Good thing my job involved nights and weekends, mostly; because it looked like having a friend was going to take up the rest of my time.

''So, you can call from my place, let the fam know…….what?'' I guess I looked a little thrown, standing there with my mouth open at the end of the drive, but it was just **too** weird. I shrugged, grinned up the hill at him.

''You're not gonna believe this.'' I commented, raising a hand to point next door, shaking my head at the coincidence. ''But that's my house.''

''No way!'' He sounded excited (well,** more** excited), and came back down to stare at the place like he'd never seen it before. ''Dude, that is so freaking cool! We're neighbors!'' He smiled at me, bouncing on the balls of his feet and I wondered if he was like this without the caffeine (or adrenaline) or if I was just lucky. He made me feel tired, just looking at him. ''Hey, do you know the guy who's been in and out for the past week? He looks a little too young to be your Dad, so I was thinking maybe he's the real estate agent or something? Although, my Mom's company handles the housing around here, and I've never seen him before; though I guess he could be new…..''

''He's my brother.'' Waiting for him to hit a stopping point wasn't an option; I was seriously wondering if he breathed through his ears, or what, because he never paused for breath, not even once. He shot me this doubtful look and opened his mouth, so I cut in, again, to de-rail that particular ramble. ''Different mothers.'' His brow furrowed, so I dropped my gaze, hoping I wouldn't actually have to lie. ''Mom's dead. Dad…..'' I shrugged, we hadn't really covered 'our' father in the cover story. Thankfully, my new friend (and next-door neighbor) seemed to realize he'd stumbled into something serious, because he shifted his weight, looking around uncomfortably. ''Look, let me check in and…….''

''Hey, it'll be neat to actually talk to the guy, say 'hey'. I mean, he doesn't like comic books, but I'm sure we'll find some common ground somewhere.'' Seth was moving towards the front door of my house before I could explain he hadn't been included. Telling him that now would seem like a rejection (and I'd feel like I was kicking a puppy), and so I went past him, leaning my bike against the wall of the garage and trying to look casual as I opened the front door with the spare keys I'd snagged, hours ago. It probably would've gone a bit smoother if I hadn't had to fumble around to find which key was to the front door. I was having trouble focusing, for some reason, everything seemed a little blurred around the edges. Finally, I got the right key at the right angle and got the stupid door **open**.

''Trey?'' I called out to my partner, letting him know by the use of his 'name' that I had company with me. We'd have to work out something for me, since I was using my real name instead of a working moniker. Or was I? Having decided to stick around and make a go of it, I now had more questions than before. Attending that party tonight was looking more and more like a necessity. Leaving my new friend in the living room (and hoping my other friend had secured the porn), I checked upstairs, and in the converted-over gym. It was in the kitchen that I found the note, explaining that he'd gone to meet with the 'new boss', would probably have to 'work a shift', and that there was food in the fridge. There was a pile of cash on the counter (for a cab ride), if I decide to attend the party at the club. "Shit.'' I had some very important questions brewing, and I didn't have absolute faith in my ability to ask them of the Madame with any measure of politeness. Spencer not being there seemed to be a betrayal (which was nonsense) but I was starting to feel ragged and ill-used.

''Everything okay?'' That dark fuzz clued me into his identity (his face was blurry, all of a sudden) as he stuck his head around the corner, concern dragging the rest of him over to my side. I showed him the note, fighting back a yawn. I checked the clock and realized I'd been going for over twenty-six hours. Well, no wonder I felt like pounded dog shit. I leaned against the counter, blinking as I tried to think of a way to get Seth to leave (so I could sleep) that wouldn't sound like I was rejecting his friendship. ''Ryan?'' His hand was comforting on my shoulder, and I flashed on the first time Spencer touched me, that night in the alley behind the biker bar. There was that same feeling of concerned support conveyed through the contact, even though this situation was **far** less traumatic. I was just tired, not struggling with the losing end of a beating. ''Dude, no offense, but you look exhausted.''

''Long couple of days.'' I mumbled, wishing I'd gone ahead and had coffee with my breakfast. I'd been trying to watch my caffeine intake (my partner was always on my case about it), not thinking of staying awake. There was no hope for it now, though; not even if I drained an entire pot. Now that I'd realized why my head was so heavy, all I could think about crawling into bed and sleeping. Hell, who needed a bed? The sofa was good, shit, even the linoleum was starting to look good. I'd certainly slept on worse than a clean floor.

''Look, the Playstation can wait, you should probably sleep.'' He didn't sound disappointed, too busy looking around the obviously new kitchen (the toaster and microwave were still in their boxes) with a frown. He nodded to himself decisively and started pulling the drawers open. ''Look, leave your brother a note in case he gets back and come on over to my place. You can crash in the guest room and you'll be right there for dinner; bring your suit and you can even change there, catch a ride with us to the country club.'' There was pleading in his gaze as he laid the pen he found on the counter in front of me. '' C'mon, spare me from dinner alone with my parents. If I have to sit through another meal of 'helpful hints' about making friends I could very well snap completely.'' I thought that unlikely, but my thoughts felt too jumbled and fuzzy to protest. It was easier just to give in, especially since I didn't really want to be alone, whether I was soon to be unconscious or not. Back in our apartment, there was a constant sense of the presence of other people, even when Spence didn't sleep at home. Here, the emptiness that surrounded me practically guaranteed that I'd have some kind of nightmare.

''Okay.'' Trying to shake off the exhaustion clawing at me, I picked up the pen; scrawling 'I'm next door' under Spencer's signature of 'Trey'. My hand shook with fatigue, lack of stimulation (now that Seth was being quiet) pushing me further towards slumber. Falling asleep on my feet was starting to sound like something I wanted to try. I mean, if horses could do it, why not me?

The rest of it passed in a blur. Going upstairs seemed far too much work, and it was like I barely blinked before my neighbor was standing in front of me with my knapsack in one hand, someone's shoes in the other, and a suit I'd never seen before over one shoulder. Another blink, and he was reminding me to lock the door, babbling about the amount of condoms I had stashed in with my toiletries. I hoped to hell he'd left them in the bag (instead of my new bedroom), but couldn't gather the willpower to care, or to ask. My feet felt like blocks, and I stumbled over them several times. I must be reaping the downslide of the adrenaline high from sex most of the day Saturday, the escape from Max; hell, maybe it was even from punching that guy. Seth's voice was a buzz, soothing for the emotion in his tone if not the words that I couldn't, quite, make out. Something about not trying to drag me upstairs? There was a bed in front of me, so I pitched into it, kicking off my shoes and sighing into sleep, barely feeling a blanket settle over me.

''Ryan?'' I jerked awake, not recognizing the voice belonging to the hand on my shoulder. Muscles tense, I twisted away, looking around wildly, trying to connect my surroundings with memory. Pool house? I thought; the beach gear and exercise equipment scattered around seemed incongruous with the futon I was laying on, so I wasn't entirely sure. My knapsack and jacket (when had I taken that off?) were laying on a chair, a suit was hanging by the open glass door. Pastel blinds covered the glass panels, and I didn't recognize **one** thing (aside from my stuff). Only the fact that I was fully clothed (save for my shoes and jacket) kept me from jumping up and running out the glass door. The man standing next to the futon I was sprawled on was no one I knew. I never would've forgotten eyebrows like that, for one thing. Something in the shaggy dark hair, the concerned features, tugged insistently at my thoughts. ''So, Seth tells us you moved in next door.'' He was giving me time to recover, to pull my heart down out of my throat. The attitude clicked with the name and I relaxed a little.

''Mr. Cohen?'' It was a good guess, because he nodded, stepping back to give me the room to untangle myself from the sheet someone (Seth, probably) had thrown over me when I passed out. My nerves were still jangling from the wake-up, on edge from some stranger being able to catch me unaware like that. I hoped it was my gut and not my exhaustion that had called the shots on that one. I decided to go for the rest of my clothes, make my escape. ''Sorry.'' Apology was always a good move, usually put adults at their ease. He frowned, though, and I froze in the act of reaching for my sneakers. Shit.

''Kid, are you okay?'' The difference between his question now, and the same words from teachers and social workers back in Chino, was in the eyes. His grey ones were far more interested in my answer than any of the brown, black, blue, or green that had glanced my way over the years. He knew what he was asking, too; knew what my reaction to waking in a strange place meant. ''I have some friends in Child Services, I could talk to ……'' My stomach clenched at the thought of him looking into my background, of chatting up his friend, the social worker. Fuck.

''I spent some time in foster care, after Mom died.'' It was completely true, the statement just implied that I'd been there for longer than the six hours it'd taken me to bust out of the Anderson's place. Looking him right in the eye as I straightened (knowing I'd only have one shot at selling this) I said ''I'm good. Thanks for asking.'' I stuck out my hand, hoping he wouldn't start digging, just to be sure I was 'safe'. The concern of strangers was always dangerous, they never really knew how destructively intrusive their 'help' could be.

''No problem.'' He took my hand, shaking it firmly before dropping it (and the subject, thankfully). Good thing, too; because I doubted Spencer would appreciate having to leave, to start all over (**again**) before we'd even begun to settle into things here. We weren't even unpacked, for crying out loud. ''We're leaving right after dinner, so you should probably save time and change now.'' I wondered why they'd let me sleep so long, this strange boy their kid had dragged home. Maybe it was that I was in the pool house, at a distance. Maybe they were just as nice as Seth had said, a couple of those 'good people' you heard so much about. Maybe ………

Mr. Cohen left while I was still trying to figure it out, closing the door behind him, and I splashed some water on my face. I didn't know how much time I had, so I decided my earlier shower would have to do and changed into the suit. My new friend had snagged the new dress shoes that went with the new outfit and even left the condoms alone. I transferred a strip of six to the back pocket of the suit pants, opposite my wallet. I gave up on the tie and shoved it into the jacket pocket, making sure my other clothes were all zipped into the knapsack. The knock at the door came as I was making the bed.

''Ryan?'' Seth had a hand over his eyes as he poked his head into the room and I grinned, feeling the urge to let go and just be a teenager taking over. Oh, what the fuck, why not?

''Hey, I'm naked here!'' He gasped at my (false) outrage, staggering backwards and trying to turn around at the same time, hand coming briefly away from his face as he fell to his knees. He gave a little shriek, burying his head in his hands for a second, freezing as he realized I was actually fully clothed. He looked slowly back up to see me smirking at him. It was just too funny, despite what he said next.

''Not funny, man.'' He stood up, brushed at his pants, scowling when I snickered. The look on his face had been **perfect**, I was hard put not to laugh out loud. He started protesting that he'd known I was joking the whole time (and had just been playing along) as we left the pool house, still whining about it as we entered the kitchen. A blonde woman was pacing in the other room, talking on her cell phone. His mother?

''Where's your tie?'' Mr Cohen smiled at me, indicating with his head that his son should move the food containers to the table. Shooting me a last resentful glare, the kid did so, muttering dire (and vaguely ridiculous) threats of retribution under his breath.

''Open collar's a good look.'' This story didn't go over as well as the last one, I think he picked up on the fact I'd never worn a suit before. I just hoped I looked more comfortable than I felt.

''I didn't know how to tie a tie until I was twenty-five.'' He told me, tapping his throat, where his own tie lay knotted. ''Button your top button.'' The knowledge that there were other people (smart people) thrown by this made me feel less stupid, but I still couldn't help tensing as he stepped closer to me. Mr. Cohen ignored the reaction, taking the crumpled fabric I handed him and raising the edges of my now-buttoned collar. ''So, you spent some time with Seth.'' He was whispering now, eyes nervous and tone uncertain as he knotted the tie. What was he……? ''He's an interesting kid when you get to know him.'' Hunh. He was trying to sound me out about his son, he was **actually** concerned about the kid's happiness. My throat tightened and I had to close my eyes, head held into place by his movements under my chin. Was this what a father was? This acceptance of who Seth **was**, not who he wanted him to be?

''He's cool.'' I whispered as well, sincere despite the choke to my voice. My relationship with Spencer was a give and take, we took care of each **other**; it was an arrangement of mutual benefit more than a family. This seemed to be more involved and subtle; like all he wanted (all it took to make him happy) was to take care of his kid, with no expectations of **ever** being 'paid back'.

For the first time since I'd met the guy, I was jealous of Seth Cohen.

Kirsten and Sandy were a happily married pair of loving parents. I felt like I was in a controlled habitat for endangered species. I think Seth told them (verbatim, probably) everything I'd said to him; because there were no questions about my family, or where I was living, or any of the stuff I thought his parents would ask. His mother asked about school (since the 'move' had come so close to the end of the semester), and I explained about the home schooling thing. Seth immediately started in about the private school he went to, Harbor, and how it was fantastic, except for the people. When I tried to protest that only the house was paid for, that me and my 'brother' had these new jobs lined up (true) to cover our other expenses; his father began telling me about scholarships and work/study programs, Mrs. Cohen chiming in about all the benefits to attending, to graduating, a school like this one.

I got quieter and quieter as they went on, uncomfortable with their assumptions about my intelligence, uneasy with the positive outlook regarding my future. That dream I'd buried rose back up, stronger than when I'd pushed it aside, back when I first moved in with Spencer and started being serious about my schoolwork. Ignoring the possibility was hard, but I didn't dare make any long-range plans, not with the way the Atwood luck operated. Look at what had happened the last time I thought I had it all worked out. No, it was safer (and smarter) to just coast along with home or public schooling, maybe tacking on a few courses from a community college, as needed. Seth's pleading face told me he was already dreaming of what it would be like, attending school with an actual friend. I couldn't look him in the eyes, so I mumbled something about my grade point average at my plate, feeling my appetite retreating (despite having missed lunch) in the face of my twisted nerves. I knew they were honestly trying to help, but it felt wrong to sit there and accept their assistance when I was what I was.

A whore.

For the first time, I was ashamed of it.

Self-absorption wasn't something I ever thought I'd be thankful for, but my new friend's inability to talk about anyone else for more than a few minutes turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Pushing my emotions back down (and locking the dream away again) was easier with him rambling on about music and movies and comics. When I recovered enough to compliment Mrs. Cohen on the meal, everyone at the table cracked up. The woman, it seemed, couldn't cook worth a damn. Their joking around about it made my stumbling attempts at apologizing even more awkward, so I stopped. After spending a few minutes teasing his mother about her lack of culinary skills (joined in his mocking by his father), the talk turned to girls. Specifically, the girl of his dreams: Summer Roberts.

It was easily the weirdest thing about the kid yet. He'd named his boat after her and never spoken to her. She didn't even know he existed, and he was planning on taking her to Tahiti. From the look that flitted across his mother's face, I didn't think** that** plan was becoming a reality until the guy graduated, if then. He was excited about seeing the girl at the party tonight, but went pale and stuttery when I asked what he would talk to her about. It was crazy, but kind of romantic, in a pathetic sort of way. I rejected the thought of hooking him up with a willing girl through my new boss; getting him laid (although it would boost his confidence) wasn't the answer here. No one who could wax poetic about a girl's charitable nature (she worked as a candy stripper, apparently) was interested in mere sex. No, the poor sap was desperately in love, and I told myself to withhold opinion until I actually saw this 'social chair' (whatever that was) in person.

Walking into the country club, I immediately started to scan the room for 'Trey'. I had questions, he had the answers; and I** really** didn't want to be here any longer than absolutely necessary. There was some kind of theme going on here that I didn't really get, some high-class excuse for a party, I thought. It didn't seem to be much of a party, too me; just a bunch of people standing around, sipping drinks and talking. There was some kind of raffle happening, later; but for the most part, it was boring as hell. All these people in their fancy clothes with their fancy cars and their fancy disdain for anyone who didn't wear the right shoe or eat the right ……..whatever those things on crackers were. This kind of thing had always been more Trey's scene than mine, I wanted to find him and tell him (and the new boss) about my decision so that I could leave. It wasn't that I was intimidated, it was just that the spoiled money set pissed me off to no end, and I wanted to make my escape before I punched someone. Seeing Jock-boy across the way, glaring at me and nudging his cronies; I gave him a confident smile.

Make that, before I punched someone **else**.

''Hey there.'' The voice was familiar, the hand on my ass even more so. Seth's eyes bugged out when I didn't flinch away from 'Tina's' grasp, letting her caress move around to my hip. Her fingers were inching towards my dick when she stepped back, smiling nervously at the just-arrived Mrs. Cohen. ''Kirsten! How are you?''

''Good, thank you, Taryn.'' She was frowning at the shorter blonde, flicking her gaze to me with a trace of concern. I shrugged, trying to convey how little it mattered. ''I thought you agreed not to ………well,** not** to.'' The woman was actually blushing, trying to warn the other off me. I couldn't tell her that it was far, far too late, not without blowing everything.

''I just couldn't resist your son's little friend.'' I narrowed my eyes at 'Tina' (no, Taryn, her name was apparently Taryn), silently promising retribution for that 'little' remark, next time she asked for my services. She appeared excited by the unspoken threat as she smirked at me. ''What's your……….''

''Taryn! Kirsten!'' Someone else joined the group, trading those fake cheek kisses and hand-clasped hugs with the two women. She was a red-head, with all the sultry implications thereof. Tradition would put her in green, to match her eyes, but she stood out (deliberately, I bet) in red and white. ''Are we still doing the fiesta theme, next month? Lord knows, we wouldn't want to offend the staff, not with Cotillion coming up in just three short months!'' There was something in her voice, her face; that made the shallow nature of her chatter ring false. She was definitely smarter than she was letting on. Before I could figure it out, my neighbor pulled me away from the trio, sighing with relief when we were out of earshot.

''Dude, I can't believe you just………''He seemed stunned that I was so casual about being felt up, revealing more about his level of experience (none) than I think he realized. Telling him the details would be wrong, I realized, and not just because I needed to keep my cover. Eventually, someone would show him the ugly underside to the world (the necessity of the things I'd done, was still doing); I just didn't want it to be me.

I didn't want to him to look at me any differently than he was now; like I was his (really cool) best friend.

''It happens.'' I should've know that wouldn't be enough, but there wasn't anything else I could really say without getting into details he was never (if I had my way) going to hear. He was still staring at me, gape-mouthed, so I changed the subject. ''So, which one of these chicks is Summer?'' Perfect. He instantly shifted his attention to the object of his desire, enabling me to do another scan of the room for Trey. That red-head from before was staring at me funny, but I didn't dare ask her name without sounding suspicious. Maybe she recognized me? I was filing through a mental list of every woman with red hair I'd ever met when Seth pointed out (figuratively speaking) his 'brunette angel'.

She was hot, I'd give her that much. Her friends weren't any great shakes, though; basically viscous junior versions of their manipulative bitch mothers. He was probably right about how different she was, too; because, despite the crowd around her and the (fake) smile on her face, she didn't look happy. She looked, in fact, lonely. The cruel giggles when Mr. Cohen salted his game sounded forced, and I wondered if he was actually as invisible as he claimed. Her eyes seemed to track him as he slumped off, depressed. I would've followed, tried to cheer him up; but my partner chose that moment (typically) to find me. He and Mr. Cohen shook hands cordially and we parted company, Sandy following his son while my 'brother' and I went to 'introduce ourselves to Newport'.

Actually, we slipped into the back of the club, where the offices were. He answered my first question (where's the boss?) with a significant glance. Looked like the moment of truth had arrived. With the way my emotions had been running wild tonight, I felt the need to pause for a minute and become 'Ben' again. I took a deep breath, locking down my control, shifting away from the things my neighbors made me think about and into a more 'professional' mindset.** Nothing** could touch me when I had that wall up behind my eyes, no one (even Spencer) could reach me with every emotion locked away behind a mask of polite interest. Not even seeing the red-head lady from before sitting behind the desk (or Crew-cut lounging in one of the chairs) threw me. It was a small town, it wasn't really unexpected to see familiar people. The door shut with a click that echoed in the room as I crossed it, coming to a stop in that little space between the desk and the chairs in facing it. Putting my back to Crew-cut let him know I didn't consider him a threat, and I smirked (internally, nothing showed on my face) when he stiffened.

Score one for the new kid.

''Ryan Atwood.'' Well, that answered that question. I guess it'd be a little ridiculous to use false names (aside from the needed cover of calling Spencer 'Trey') in a community this small. The woman stood, sticking out her hand for me to take. Her tone was stripped of anything but business, so I shook her hand instead of trying to kiss it. She seemed to appreciate my professional attitude, re-taking her seat, indicating the remaining empty chair with a flick of her fingers. I sat (sprawled really) comfortable in my confidence. I wouldn't even be** in** this room if she didn't intend to hire me, even if only on a trial basis. Besides, seeing Crew-cut's jaw clench at my relaxed attitude was entertaining as hell. I did wonder what he was doing here, though. I knew Trey had to have told her about me, about my 'rules'. Besides, the guy (although a jackass) wasn't any more gay than I was. ''I'm Julie Cooper, your new boss. I've heard a lot about you. Good….'' She tilted her head towards Trey, who'd taken up a position to the side of the desk, making me wonder about how highly placed he **was** in this operation. Pretty high, I thought, from the casual way he leaned against the edge of it, his body language in regards to her. ''…..and bad.'' This time, she used a flick of her fingers to indicate the other boy, and the two of us glared at each other. Was **that** what he was doing here? Giving her his version of events? There was a _slam_ as she thumped her fist into the top of the desk. ''I won't have the two of you marking each other up, so there will be no further _incidents_, is that clear?'' Damn, her tone was fiercely uncompromising, but I was gonna have a huge problem with that deal, I just hoped I wasn't about to lose the job.

''Yes, Julie.'' Figures he'd toe the line, or at least **act like** he was toeing the line. I knew that look, that 'you better not let me catch you alone' look. I had an ace up my sleeve he didn't know about though; revealed in the way she'd greeted Kirsten (as opposed to Taryn) and I wasn't above using it.

''Stop beating the shit out of Seth Cohen, and we're good.'' I directed my comments to him, even though I was looking at Julie. As expected, her mouth tightened at this information, and I knew whomever this guy was, he'd be hearing about it later tonight.

''You've got a client.'' I raised my eyebrows, leaning forward to take the piece of paper she held out. My smugness at getting a customer so quick (I'd only just arrived, after all) was deflated by her next words. ''Her name's Meredith, she's down the hall waiting.'' Pre-arranged, then; she probably would've been handed off to Trey (or the other guy) if I hadn't shown up. The paper contained a number (200 wasn't bad for a quickie) and knocking instructions. I nodded my acceptance, but Crew-cut spoke up, protesting.

''I thought I was getting the Ward job?'' So that's what he was doing here, he thought he'd be working the gig I'd just been handed. He'd probably heard Trey talking me up and interrupted with his story about the thing at the diner. Or maybe he was just a natural complainer, someone who was always griping about something or other. It occurred to me that Julie hadn't been in business long (year, tops) if this guy was her go-to stud. It also explained why Taryn hadn't been able to fill her kink here; a new stable stayed vanilla for several months, until the profit margin allowed for new, more adventurous blood. Damn, that probably meant she didn't have influence at the local strip clubs. I hoped she didn't have any rules about my getting something there, as I didn't have any intention of giving up stripping. Maybe (if there **was** a problem) I could present it as a form of free advertising. That's how it had worked out before.

''You're a friend of her son's, Zach; she said it was just too weird.'' Julie shot me a significant look, glancing at her watch. ''You've only got forty-five minutes, you'd better hurry.'' A test of my skills, then, as well as a trial run of our services for this customer. I stood, feeling more confident about the likliehood of her letting me continue to moonlight as a stripper. Smart, just as I'd thought, and imminently practical. If I wasn't careful, I could actually start to like this woman.

''I bet he won't have any problems _hurrying_.'' Zach's insult was delivered just as I was reaching the door. Dumb bastard, dumb **spoiled** bastard; but I had the perfect way to show him he wasn't the prize stallion anymore.

''Three.'' I declared, putting my hand on the door knob.

''I don't…….''Aw, he looked confused. What an idiot. Trey shook his head with tolerant amusement. He, at least, knew what I was talking about. Julie's face was blank, I think she suspected what I was up to (if not what I meant) and was content to let me try and handle things (so long as there was not fighting).

''He's saying he'll give her at least three orgasms.'' Trey explained for me, leaving me free to exit and make my quiet way down the hall, towards my first 'blind' appointment.

I had a job to do.

--xxx--

**A/N: **Please don't hurt me! This was just a good place to fade to black. I pick it up almost the same moment, next chapter.


	3. New Business

**A/N: **So the start & finish to this chapter are to feed all my smut bunnies, which are taking over the house.

Thanks** loads**, Waltzy.

As promised, it picks up** right** where the last chapter left off, so here we go:

--xxx—

Three. Why did I say **three**? Quick and dirty fucks were lucky to yield two, so **why** did I shoot my mouth off? Okay, I knew **why**, because I couldn't let that Zach asshole get the upper hand with his wise-ass comment. I hadn't been prepared for dealing with people who knew about my job, who knew how things operated. This was an aspect to being part of a stable I hadn't considered, the other studs. In my own defense, Trey was the only other prostitute I'd worked with (male or female) and he wasn't jealous of me in the least. Of course, the women who hired him weren't interested in me, and vice versa, so maybe…….

No, I was a professional, not a spoiled brat like the crew-cut jerk down the hall. It didn't matter to me how much (or who) anyone else 'worked' or how they viewed my own performance. Trey was my trusted friend, if he had a problem with me (doubtful) he would've let me know by now. Besides, thoughts like those had a way of interfering with my ability to work. I knocked in the instructed pattern, focusing my mind on the matter at hand. There was no answer, as expected; so I just went in, locking the door behind me. The layout to this office was nearly identical to that of the other, the only differences were in style and color (of wood, of leather) and the woman standing by the desk. She was wearing a fancy green dress, her blond hair coming down to her shoulders, her blue eyes startled when she turned to face me.

''Who are you?'' Meredith (I was guessing) didn't appear upset that I wasn't Zach. In fact, I think she might have been a little relieved. Her eyes flicked over me and she licked her lips. I started her way, smiling with easy confidence (and growing arousal) as I strolled over. When they were physically attracted, the job was half done for me; and from the smell as I got within her personal space, she was **very **attracted.

''Whoever you want me to be.'' She stared, obviously as surprised (at being flirted with) as much as she was aroused. I put my hands palms down on the desk, pressing my body against hers (making her gasp) but keeping eye contact. ''Whoever you **need** me to be.''

''I don't know.'' She closed her eyes even as her nipples hardened beneath her dress, making tiny bumps in the fabric. Her **body** wasn't reluctant: the way she was swallowing, the hunger in her gaze when she re-opened her eyes, the tremble of her hands when she placed them on my shoulders; all signs it had been far, far too long since her husband (since anyone) had touched her the way I was intending to touch her.

''You think if you do this, your marriage is over.'' Her eyes widened and she nodded, gasping again when I lowered my head to start kissing her neck. She didn't stop me, which meant she was only protesting these activities because she thought she **should**. ''You wouldn't have called my boss, or asked for this, if it wasn't already dead and gone.'' I took her moan as agreement, putting my arms around her to cup her ass, thrusting forward so she could feel my hardening cock pressed between her legs.

''I have a **son** your age.'' She sounded desperate, pleading; and I knew half this job was going to be convincing her that it was okay to do this, to have this. Even as she spoke, she was spreading her legs a little bit, body demanding what her brain hadn't accepted yet. I thrust forward again, more gently this time, pressing my dick against her mound through our clothes.

''I'm not him.'' I murmured into her ear, pulling her dress upward slowly, dry-humping her carefully. From the way she was panting, the easy part would be getting her off. The difficult part was going to be getting her to the point where she'd let me go to work. I put a kiss just under her jaw, drawing another reluctant moan from her. Keeping her pleasure climbing would bring her around faster, I was thinking. If I wasn't on a time limit, I'd just talk to her some more, maybe even put off the sex until next time. As it was……She was starting to tremble, and I could tell she was fighting the impulse to thrust her own hips forward to meet the motions of mine. ''You **deserve** this, you have a **right** to feel good.'' I trailed my lips to her mouth, hovering over it and stopping the movement of my hips. She opened her eyes (I don't think she even realized she'd closed them) and blinking at me quizzically. ''And you never have to see me again, if you don't want to.'' The hem of her dress cleared her hips, but I didn't make any further attempts to move things along. She was the customer, it had to be her choice. I saw her realize that I wasn't going to do anything else without her express permission, and the knowledge that I was willing to walk away (from however much Julie was charging her) was what decided her.

She kissed me, hard and hungry, and I ran my hand up her back, pressing her to me as I reached for the zipper. She broke the lip-lock to shake her head and I dropped my hand back down to her ass. This was why I hated 'blind' appointments, all the guesswork to the fucking.

Reading her gaze, I raised my hands and slid the straps of her dress (making sure to get the bra-straps as well) off her shoulders and down, baring her breasts. Meredith hitched herself up to sit on the desk when my lips closed around one nipple, whimpering when my fingers feathered their way up her thigh to touch the dampness of her panties. She leaned back onto her hands, letting me suck and nip at her breasts, my hand sliding beneath her underwear.

She bit her lip, throwing back her head, as I touched the bare skin of her pussy. Inserting a finger made her groan, pressing my thumb to her clit made her cry out, bucking into the contact. I quickly added another finger, sucking hard around the other nipple as I stroked back and forth over her spot, pressing down hard with my thumb, keeping a constant pressure. She came almost instantly, arching into my hand.

I opened my pants with my free hand, adding a third digit when she started to come down from her climax. Freeing my joint and putting on a condom one-handed was easy, I'd had **plenty** of practice. Not screaming at her when she put her hands on my shoulders (just as I was about to slide in) though, **that** was hard. Damn, I thought I'd had her. I didn't have time to be subtle, either; the clock was literally ticking. I held up my damp fingers, showing her the evidence of how into this she really was. It was a little late to be having second thoughts, after all.

''I just…….'' She couldn't meet my gaze and I realized what the problem was. As long as she didn't have to look me in the face, she could pretend I was her husband, or that I wasn't as young as I was. Well, that was a simple thing to fix. I backed away, pulling her off the desk to stand up with me. She reached, blushing, for the straps off her dress (hanging near her elbows); her assumption that we were giving up corrected by my 'working' voice.

''Turn around.'' I instructed, not missing the spark of excitement in her eyes. Either this was her preferred position, or we were about to satisfy an unresolved kink or fantasy. She nodded almost convulsively, whirling to bend eagerly over the desk, taking a grip on the far side.

I was, truthfully, a little relieved. In this position, I wouldn't be expected to kiss her, or suck her breasts, or any of the other little touches women liked. This position, too, was one that leant itself to the quick and dirty rhythm, which is exactly what I gave her. My first thrust was hard, making her hands clench white. I grabbed her hips, adjusting the angle, and thrust again. She moaned, arching back onto me as I started to move, shoving forward into her harder and harder.

By the fifth thrust, she was coming again.

''God!'' She was shaking, gasping for breath as I sped up, keeping my movements forceful. Seeing the minute hand ticking by on the clock on the bookcase, I slid a caressing hand down to play with her clit, feeling her clench around me for a third orgasm as I intensified her pleasure with a soft pinch of my fingers on the swollen nub. ''Oh yeah! **Fuck** me, fuck me **hard**!'' Well, it had certainly taken her long enough to get into it. Good thing time wasn't quite up yet; I didn't want to piss her off by leaving now that she was finally letting go and enjoying herself. I leaned over her, ghosting my lips on the back of her neck. She hung her head, whimpering and moaning as I increased my pace again. Her clit was slick between my fingers as I continued on, wanting to give her a real gut-wrencher before I shot off. ''Fuck, yeah! Please don't stop! God, just don't **stop**!'' I didn't, though I** did** speed up to my maximum pace, giving her a groan so she'd know I was enjoying the sex too. She didn't have to know that my pleasure just wasn't as fierce as hers.

Her finishing scream was loud, I hoped to hell these rooms were sound proofed. I spent in unison with her (women liked it when you could manage that) and slumped over her, panting a little myself. A check of the clock showed me ten minutes yet to go, just enough time to wrap matters up. I pushed myself free of her, dumping the condom in the office's little trashcan. It seemed to stand out against the clear plastic, so I looked around for a cover as I pulled my pants back into place. Meredith moved slowly, obviously still coming down; so I didn't try and touch her, not wanting to start things up again when I had a meeting to get to. Spotting the electric pencil sharpener, I unplugged it, opened it, and dumped the shavings over the gooey latex in the trash. Perfect.

''Okay?'' I asked the woman who pushed herself upright, wiggling her hips as she slid her dress back down. I checked the fabric for stains as she adjusted her clothing; for creases or other telling signs of what we'd been up to. I hadn't touched her hair, so that was good; and she'd obviously been wearing that non-smear makeup; because there wasn't a streak or a smear anywhere. She nodded at me, bracing herself against the desk, putting her shoes back on.

There was no one in the hall when I peeked out, remaining just as empty when I walked casually back to the office I'd started out in. Only Trey was there, which was disappointing, because I still had two minutes to go (when I took his proffered bottle of water and sat down) and I'd wanted to see Julie (and Zach the asshole) be impressed. More Julie than Zach, but still. He raised an eyebrow at me, silently asking if I'd followed through on my boast. I held up four fingers, tilting my head back to swallow the cool liquid. My 'brother' tapped his own water bottle against mine in congratulations, and we shared a drink to celebrate my prowess. We sat in companionable silence until, two minutes later _precisely_, the door opened and Julie walked in, smiling at me.

''I **just** got a call from Meredith.'' Well, if there'd been a complaint, I figured she wouldn't be smiling. She pulled out a stack of bills, counting off two hundred dollars. Nope, definitely not a complaint, then. ''She wants a standard appointment: twice a week, three hours a day.'' She handed me the money, putting the rest back in her purse. ''Not only did you **finally **get her to go through with it….'' I thought the surrender had more to do with how long Meredith had gone without, but if my boss wanted to think I was some sort of Casanova, that was fine by me.''….but she wants me to give you a bonus.'' Julie eyed me specutively, the _snap _of her purse closing let me know that, whatever the bonus was, it wasn't going to be cash. ''So, what do you want?'' That was a good question, really. Of course, the real question was: what did I want that this woman could give me?

''I don't know if you have any contacts at the local strip clubs……'' I began, only to be interrupted by laughter. From my partner. I wasn't the only one glaring at him, either; but he just shrugged at us both.

''I haven't really had a chance to tell him.'' Tell me what? And what was so damn funny, anyway? Trey smiled at me, a reassuring expression of complicity. Whatever he hadn't had a chance to tell me, it was something I was gonna like, or that he **thought** I was gonna like. ''Julie bought a club last November, when Taryn bragged on our performance from the Halloween party.'' I nodded, remembering my first three-way; and blushed a little, wishing I could forget the stupid panic afterward (when I thought we'd fucked her to death). ''Well, all Taryn knew about** you** is that you were my 'brother', the stripper.'' I could see where this was going, and my opinion of my new boss went up another notch.

''So I decided to expand my operations.'' Julie cut in, leaning against the desk next to Trey. ''We'll be ready to open in a week or two; we'll be hitting our stride another two weeks after that. Just in time to catch the summer crowds. We practice every Monday and Wednesday afternoon, you're welcome to come try-out.'' So much for **that** request. Not only was I getting my stripping gig (with my talent, the audition was a formality, at best), but it didn't even interfere with my arrangements with Seth. ''Come on, there must be **something**. I run a dating service as a cover; maybe I could set you up with someone?'' Hazel eyes flashed across my mind and I shoved the thought away. She was joking around, anyway. I didn't need a date, I wasn't in this business looking for love………..Love. Of course.

Seth.

''Could you set up a friend of mine with Summer Roberts?'' I frowned when she shook her head sorrowfully. I was opening my mouth to convince her to change her mind, when she pierced me with a serious look, that intelligence I'd noted earlier no longer hidden in her eyes.

''Kiki won't let me, says he wants to do it himself.'' Kiki? Who the hell was……Wait. Kiki………Kirsten?...……okay, that cleared **that** up. It also, unfortunately, emptied my mind of ideas for my bonus. I liked that she'd already tried, though; it boded well for our future working relationship, and her next words reassured me that I wouldn't have to worry about a conflict between work and my friendship with Seth. ''I'm glad you two boys are getting along. I was kind of hoping for that to happen when I moved you in next door.'' While it was nice to have that coincidence explained, it still didn't give me any ideas. I studied the floor, trying to think if there'd been anything missing from the house. I didn't think so, Trey was pretty good at getting us what we needed. I'd even seen some more home-schooling materials.

Wait, that was it.

''My S.A.T. Ones.'' The key that would open the first of the doors to better opportunities. My new boss appeared surprised, shooting my brother a startled look.

''Told you he was smart.'' Trey commented, crossing his arms over his chest with pride. I didn't mind the remark, or the revelation that they'd been talking about me. Not only did I know that he'd had to sell her on hiring me, but he was **always** telling people that I was smart, the brains of the 'family'. My usual response to which was to ask why I wasn't, therefore, **rich**.

''I thought that you meant street-smart.'' Julie quipped, straightening from her relaxed posture, smoothing her dress over her body. She seemed pleased, and I didn't blame her. Working with people who were intelligent enough to try and better themselves was always easier (and a little more fun) than working with those who reveled in their ineptitude. For example: Jasmine (stripper, studying to be a lawyer) was one of the people I'd miss from Paradise Hills. Lisa (quit the 'Body Shop' to work for a low-class joint called 'Luna Chicks') on the other hand, was a spoiled brat with a lousy attitude and I'd been glad to see the last of her. Our new boss was looking better and better every minute. ''Done. Trey will handle the details of **that**; your pay and schedule for the coming week, contact procedures, transportation, education: everything.'' She left, leaving me to stare in utter confusion at my partner.

**Trey** would handle the details?

''She needed an assistant, a 'second in command', and I was the only one not trying to control her.'' Shit, it was starting to be a little scary, how similar I was to the woman. Not only did we both like Seth Cohen (me as a friend, her as a friend of his mother), we both had control issues, were smarter than we liked people to know, and we **both **considered Trey to be trustworthy. It took a major load off my mind, too; because with my brother handling (or at least, majorly contributing to) my 'career', this job would **never** get out of hand. He put an arm around my shoulders to lead me from the office, clicking off the light. ''Welcome to Newport, little brother.''

--xxx—

'The Bait Shop' (who **names** these places?) had two stages, with the circular bar making the bottom point of the 'v', and a rod where a curtain could be drawn, dividing the place into separate sections. Newport, it seemed, wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought of a co-ed strip club; and this concession was the only way they would be allowed to even open their doors. Julie had hired Alex (a female bi-sexual bartender from Sacramento) to run the joint while she remained a silent partner. They'd already signed on a full crew of dancers (no one I knew, thankfully), and now they were running the escorts thru their paces, to see if there was any hidden talent among them. Those not shaking to the music (in some cases, more like twitching) were scattered around the stage as 'audience' members.

Our boss had provided pre-ripped outfits for everyone (and outright denied stilettos), so there wasn't any danger of wardrobe malfunctions. Most of the performances weren't bad, actually. I guess when you earned your money naked, you had to have **some** kind of flair for taking it off. Some of them, though…………

I exchanged another long-suffering look with the dancers (sitting at a table away from the rest of us) as Jess finished her set. Her, Zach, and two slightly older (seventeen?) chicks I hadn't caught the names of, were the only other teenagers in Julie's stable. Everyone else was within three or four years of Spencer's twenty-five, and none of them had tried very hard to get this gig. It irritated me (and the dancers, too, I could tell) that they weren't taking it seriously. Of course, the 'serious' attempts weren't any less painful to watch, witness the girl who'd just left the stage.

And the son of a bitch currently strutting around up there.

Zach was making the same mistakes Jess had. He didn't match his moves to the feel of the music. Not the rhythm, both were good about thrusting their hips (to the point it became disgusting to watch) in time with the beat; but neither had picked up on the **tone** of their chosen tunes. The music he'd picked was confident, and he strutted proudly enough; but the _tone_ was somewhat submissive, and he never once even hit his knees to reflect it. It wasn't a song I'd've picked for a straight guy, but then maybe I'd known too many queers back at The Body Shop who just loved to use 'Bringing Sexy Back' for their routines. At least he'd bothered to put something together, unlike the act just before.

Jess's music (Hot Like Me) was barely tolerable, but her movements weren't connected, and she'd paused several times to think of what she was gonna try next. She'd even attempted to use the pole, but she had no real concept of what she was doing, so she stumbled a lot. Truthfully, I was amazed she'd finished the set without twisting her ankle or something. Zach was using the pole as a prop only, leaning against it and pointing into the audience with a (completely unjustified) cocky wink. He also concentrated (as she had) on gyrating in front of Alex and Julie, ignoring everyone else in an attempt to impress the boss.

''Ryan.'' I straightened from where I'd put my head down on the table, unwilling to watch anymore. Julie was looking at me; hell, everyone was, and the scowl on Zach's face told me my sigh of relief when his music had ended had been louder than I thought. The woman wasn't giving me a warning look, though; it was more…….oh, hell.

''You mean I have to **follow** that?'' There was giggling from the dancer's table at my horrified tone of voice. The other teen completely misconstrued it though, puffing out his bare chest in undeserved pride.

''Afraid of coming up……short?'' When was he gonna let the height thing go? It wasn't like it was related to dick size. From what I'd seen while he was squirming around up there,** I** was the winner in that department.

''You **wish**.'' For one wild, insane moment (that passed, good thing) I considered using the same music he had. I didn't have the moves for it, though, and I hated Justin Timberlake anyway. A nod from Alex confirmed that she had my signature loaded, and I stood at the back end of the stage, waiting for the first strains of good ole 'Bad to the Bone' to start up.

I strutted forward in time to the beat, raking my gaze over the crowd. The dancers blinked at my bare feet and leaned forward to pay closer attention. I paused, waiting for the music to change, before I took hold of the zipper to my jacket and dragged it slowly down. When the lyrics started, I grabbed the pole, leaning forward and pretending to take money from an invisible person at the edge of the stage (a tactic I repeated several times throughout my audition). A good hard yank brought me back upright; a seemingly casual shrug dropped my jacket to my elbows. I ran a hand caressingly across my stomach, lifting my prepared wife-beater teasingly up just enough to show a flash of skin; my other hand cupped my own ass. The 'audience' was starting to make eye contact with me, and I thrilled to the thought of being able to draw in even the professionals.

Dropping my arms straight down, I caught the collar of the jacket, tossing it away to slide along the stage towards the back as part of a turn. I mock-stretched, reaching upwards, moving my hips from side to side in time with the beat. My head thrown back, I ran my hands through my hair and down my neck, lifting my head back upright to lock gazes with one of the female dancers when they reached my shoulders. She licked her lips and I started to smile, hooking my thumbs under the corners of the tee and linking my fingers together. I moved them up and down, my shirt caught in the grip; now revealing, now concealing, my upper chest. I suddenly grabbed the fabric and ripped it clean off with one quick motion, breaking eye contact with the dancer as I threw the cloth aside (keeping mental note of where it fell). My skin was slick under my palms as I drew attention to my torso by rubbing my hands over it as I strutted and posed. In actuality, I was checking that none of the (very light) coat of oil I'd prepped with had come off.

What came next was the part I was actually nervous about, because g-strings were what Julie wanted us to wear, and since she was the one with the money…….. Good thing Trey had warned me, it gave me the chance to pick one up on our way home last night. I'd listened to Michael, back at the Body Shop, gripe about g-strings often enough that I even knew what to shop for. I was just hoping it hadn't shifted around under my stripping jeans, it was hard to tell, just by feel, if I was gonna be flashing my stuff or not. Not even the lack of my familiar mask (another new rule) was as uncomfortable as the thought I might be accidentally on display like that. Deliberate was different, there was time to become mentally prepared. Accidental was just embarrassing.

Shit, I really hoped it hadn't shifted.

I made eye contact with another woman, hooking my thumbs through my belt loops. A practiced (over three months) maneuver, and I'd popped the button on my jeans without taking my thumbs from the loops or touching it with my other fingers. Shifting eye contact to someone else, I caressed my hips and ass, down my thighs as low as I could reach without bending over. Another person to lock eyes with (moving around the stage) and I stroked my fingers up the front of my pants, rubbing my thumb over the zipper's tab. By this time, I could feel everyone watching me, the whole room focused entirely on my performance. I finally looked over to where Alex and Julie were sitting, smirking at them as I pulled the zipper slowly down, leaning back against the pole. Both women were staring, their paperwork forgotten as I continued with my show.

Damn, this felt good. I stood up straight, shifting my gaze yet again. That was the key to keeping a crowd under control, not focusing on any one person and thereby pissing off the people who weren't getting your attention. I grabbed the waist of my jeans, pulling at them, baring more skin, finally yanking them off as if irritated at their constriction. The black denim g-string hadn't shifted, thankfully; and was far more comfortable than I'd expected. Stripping always gave me a hard-on, which is why I'd gotten the one with the larger pouch, despite Trey's teasing. People were starting to clap and whistle, and I even saw a flash of dollar-bill-green before the woman's tablemates reminded her that this was a try-out, not an actual show.

I did my usual exit maneuver (treating the crowd like they were invisible) and had to smirk at the shouts (in one case, a squeal) of appreciation when I bent over to snag my jacket as I left the stage. The music cut off just as I hopped off from the back area, riding the unbelievable high of charging up a room full of professional strippers and escorts. Damn, but this felt so good. I was practically bouncing on the balls of my feet as I made my way carefully over to Julie, jacket slung over one shoulder, wearing nothing but my flops and brand-new g-string.

Alex had a look on her face approaching awe; like she'd opened a box of cubic zirconium and found the Star of Africa. Julie's expression was all business, even though I could tell she appreciated the performance. I had a sneaking suspicion that she had a rule about not sleeping with her 'employees' which made me feel even better. She had enough control over my life as it was. It wasn't Zach's narrowed and murderous eyes that brought me slamming back to Earth, it was the guy standing by the table holding my street clothes.

''Not bad.'' Trey remarked, ignoring both my blush and the almost frantic way I snatched the clothing from him and started scrambling into it. I didn't know why I was upset; he'd certainly seen me wearing less. Hell, when we did three-ways, he saw (not directly, no eye contact, but he** saw**) me climax. So what made this so different? The logic calmed me down, restored my good humor; though the ridiculousness of my reaction kept my features tinted red. I crouched down to tie my sneakers, hiding my face Once more fully clothed, with my stripping gear in my knapsack and the heat finally leaving my skin; I straightened and smiled at my friend, knowing he'd pick up on the apology (for my minor freak-out) conveyed thereby.

''Sure you're not queer?'' Zach commented snidely, still bare-chested; having only put his pants back on. His question earned him a hard stare from our boss, as did my response.

''Only in your pathetic dreams.'' He'd obviously never had the insult turned back on him, he turned an interesting shade of purple. I decided not to tell the shit that he'd cramp (from the cooling sweat) if he didn't towel off or put some more clothes on (or get up off his ass and stretch before his muscles locked up). None of the dancers looked like they were gonna clue him in, either.

I hoped the cramp was somewhere** really** painful.

''I'll start you off on one set, Friday night.'' Alex was telling me. I knew she wouldn't be offering without Julie's okay, so I nodded acceptance, despite the flare of disappointment. Don't be stupid, Ry, I berated myself. It's a new club, they need a few months before they can offer any more than they are. Besides, Friday was primo tip night, even better than Saturday; because no one was thinking of church the next morning, and the paycheck was fresh in their pockets. And they weren't pissed or guilty (like they were on Saturday) about how drunk they'd gotten (or how they'd blown a first date) the night before. All in all, with the money she quoted at me for the gig; I was pretty happy about the offer. Alex handed me a pencil, pushing paper at me. ''Give me a list of the songs that you use.''

''Everyone else, keep practicing.'' Julie ordered, tapping a manicured nail on the papers Trey had handed her, while I was getting dressed. Under the not-so-muffled groans and complaints, she turned to my brother, handing him some papers back. ''Sign him out something to use and meet me back at NewMatch after your appointment.'' Something to use? Sign me out? Did I **want** to know what was going on?

''Sure thing, Julie.'' Reminding myself that I could trust him (and that he, in turn, obviously trusted **her**) I trailed after him, feeling Zach's eyes boring into my back the entire way. I crawled into the passenger seat of his new Saturn (Jack's truck had been returned to him by a 'friend' of Julie's – we hadn't asked who) and tried to relax. ''You're going to have to watch that guy.'' My brother warned me as he started the car.

''I know.'' He didn't have to explain who he meant, it was obvious that the Zach-ass (that was good, I'd have to tell Seth that one) resented not being the youngest (or best looking) stud anymore. Handling him was going to be difficult, but **only** because I wasn't allowed, per Julie, to beat his face in. She_** ever**_ lifted that ban and dark, tall, and stupid would get a real lesson in respect, Chino-style. Thinking about that guy pissed me off, though, so I changed the subject. ''Something to use?''

''Yeah.'' We were pulling into what looked like a used car lot, my friend exchanging a nod of recognition with the security guard, who waved us past the gate. ''A vehicle, something a little more practical than that bicycle of yours.'' What was wrong with my bike? I thought, climbing sour-faced out of the car. Well, sour-faced until I saw what the parking lot was filled with.

Whoa.

There were Marzarottis, Porsches, Lamborghinis, Rolls, and basically any sports or luxury vehicle you could want. I could even see the hulking shape of a Hummer looming over to the left. All the colors of the rainbow, in every modern style; there were even two or three nearly identical SUV's and Beemer's sitting near the gate. What was **missing** were the offices for the dealership, the guys in cheap suits rushing over to offer us a 'steal' and make their quotas.

''It's like a rental.'' I snapped my admittedly glazed eyes back to Trey, scowling at his amused expression. So I liked cars, sue me. It was better then being all into planes, like he was. You crash a car, you might live. You crash a plane, and people sent flowers and talked about what a 'nice guy' you **were**. ''You sign out the vehicle, and it's yours for as ……''

''……long as you work for Julie.'' Well, that explained a lot; but I had some more questions, and they weren't related to work, exactly. But who else could I ask? I tilted my head, silently asking him to follow me as I hunted through the lot for my ride. It had to be something I could pass off as having just caught up with us (from the move) so it couldn't be either too high-priced or too average. ''What's her story, anyway?''

''You'll pick it up eventually, so I guess it's okay.'' Trey set his car's alarm and matched pace with me, nudging me with his elbow. ''You didn't hear it from me, though.''

Turned out the woman was from Riverside, up a few neighborhoods both safety and social wise from Chino. She'd gotten knocked up by a Newport guy right out of high school, and he'd actually done the right thing: he married her. They'd had another daughter, a few years later, and things were going pretty good until he went sailing one day, eighteen months ago, and never came back. He'd been declared officially dead after six months, and she'd found out that he'd been bankrupt. In true never-say-die style, she'd come up with NewMatch: a dating service which was supposed to help these people 'find love'. It brought in a pretty fair profit, actually; according to Trey. But the **real **money was in the underside, the hidden purpose. All the dirty little things (and dirty little secrets) that lived beneath the surface of the community.

Meredith had been desperate because her husband was gay, Taryn was a sex addict (no shit, really?); and those two were just the tip of the iceberg where this town was concerned. The only family whose closets were skeleton-free were the Cohen's, and Julie was **their** best friend, due to some former relationship between her late husband and Kirsten. Trey's explanation of how** that** happened (the friendship, not the failed hook-up) had huge gaps, and was largely based on gossip, so……. Much as I would've loved to ask Seth for more detail, I didn't have an excuse as to why I'd be nosing around in Julie Cooper's life, so I guess that was that for my 'briefing' about our Madame.

''Well, that sucks.'' It was weird, feeling respect for her, but I did. I could understand every single move she'd made, every decision. Left with nothing but her daughters, she'd done whatever it took (without humiliating them) to give the girls the life she thought they deserved. Having them away at boarding school was only practical; no **way** she could run this operation with two teenagers running around and asking inconvenient questions. Having them home for the summer and holidays was probably difficult enough, hence her need for an assistant, someone to shift the administrative duties to when her kids were in town.

''I guess.'' There was a chill up my spine at the lack of sympathy in his voice. Some of the things he'd let slip (about his mother) over Christmas made his hard-eyed expression understandable, but that didn't mean I had to like it. He looked at his watch, groaning. ''Come on, Ry, **pick** something. I've got an appointment and you've got to meet that geek you had lunch with.''

''All right, all right.'' I tried not to snap at him, but I didn't like him talking about Seth like that. The kid really **was** interesting, when you got to know him. Weird (he'd told me we couldn't be friends until I started reading this book he loaned me) but in a good way. Shoving aside the irritation, I rounded the corner past a Dodge Charger and saw them.

Motorcycles.

There were only two rows, and a lot of them were scooters, but there were some Yamahas and Harleys mixed in with the Vespas. It was great: because they fit the bad-boy hook that was still working for me, there were legitimate reasons why 'my bike' hadn't moved with us, and the things were much easier to make a getaway on than anything with a door. Not to mention the parking and gas mileage considerations.

Best of all, Trey **hated** them. My tooling around on one of these things would drive him absolutely _**nuts**_.

Utterly failing to restrain my juvenile impulse, I turned eagerly to my brother.

''No.'' He said, recognized the look in my eye. And ''No.'' again, when I started to smile.

''Maybe we should call Julie and ask **her**.'' He scowled at me, because we both knew she'd take my side, and be more than a little miffed at **him** for not handling this himself. He checked his watch again and I knew I'd won, because he apparently didn't have the time to argue me out of it, and the point would be moot the minute I got the thing home.

''You'll need a helmet.'' Trey sighed, resigning himself to the idea. He waved his hand at the selection, shrugging. ''Pick one out, I'll clear it with Gus.'' He motioned towards the gate, so I guessed Gus was the security guard we'd passed on the way in.

Trying to hold onto my excitement I looked the bikes over. A couple I would've chosen weren't in very good shape, it didn't look like anyone had driven them since they'd gotten here. I finally settled on a Triumph with electric blue and silver finish, that appeared to be almost brand-new. The thrum as I started the engine was intoxicating, and I wondered if Seth would understand if I was a few hours late, bending the speeding laws (and the sound barrier) with this monster. Probably not. All through lunch, I'd noticed the shocked and suspicious looks being sent our way. While most of them were obviously wondering who the hell** I** was, it was also just as obvious that they resented the 'loser' stepping out of the role they'd chosen for him. I **had** to show up something close to on time, if only to keep from having his death or dismemberment on my conscience.

--xxx—

''Oh, thank **God**!"' I frowned at Mrs. Cohen, pausing in the act of pulling down the zipper of my jacket. She ignored me entirely, charging across the foyer to throw her arms around her son. We weren't even late for dinner, why was she so frantic? He'd called, told them where we were. Hadn't he? He'd said he had. ''Where have you been?'' Her eyes narrowed accusingly, dropping to the helmets we were carrying. ''Are those **motorcycle** helmets?'' Now I knew what people meant, when they said someone's voice was 'strident'. The piercing nature of it wasn't nearly as painful as the thought my new friend hadn't been honest with me, though.

''Now, honey, I'm sure there's a good explanation.'' Mr. Cohen observed from the kitchen doorway. I was starting to feel a tightness in my gut, and sent the man's son a hard look of my own.

''I thought you said you called them.'' I glared, not wanting to get in trouble because he'd flaked on his parents. I only hoped it was his wacko character, and not that he'd outright lied to me. I didn't think I could take it if he had. Damn it, he was supposed to be different, better. Better than the losers I'd hung with in Chino, better than the jock assholes thick on the ground here.

Better than me.

''I **did** call. I got voicemail.'' Seth flinched from his mother's stare. Apparently, voicemail wasn't good enough. It was good enough for me, meant he was the guy I'd thought he was. He'd called, so his mother was massively over-reacting. It wasn't like he'd been out doing any of the stupid shit (drinking, drugs, unsafe sex) the kids around here seemed to be into, per the stories he'd told me, during our tour. It didn't seem to matter that he was okay, that he wasn't even late getting home, that he'd called. I started to feel irritated at her reaction to her son having a little fun. Fuck, no **wonder **he was still a virgin.

''Leaving a message that you're 'showing Ryan around'…..'' and she glared at me ''……doesn't tell me where you are or what you're doing, Seth Ezekiel.'' Great, the dreaded 'full name'. He hung his head, shuffling his feet. Gone was the energetic monkey I'd just spent the afternoon with, the guy who'd made me laugh and was ten times better company than any 'cool' teenager. ''You are **grounded**, young man, until you can……'' Her husband was opening his mouth (to protest, most like) when I lost it.

''Oh, get a grip, Mrs. Cohen.'' I snapped, beyond ticked. She'd reduced the kid to a pathetic little boy, and I hated it. **He** hadn't done anything wrong. If anything, it was **her** fault that he hadn't been able to get hold of her so she could forbid him from having a good time. ''Loosen his leash a little, would you?''

''Ex**cuse** me?'' Her nostrils were actually flaring, but I was too pissed off to care. **This** was why the kid didn't have any friends (in addition to being weird), she still had him tied up in her apron strings. ''What did you just say to me?''

''I think we all need to calm down a little.'' Sandy came up and put a hand on his wife's shoulder. ''The boys aren't hurt, Kirsten, and they **did** call.'' I felt a surge of warmth towards the man for grouping me in with his concern for his son, but his wife appeared less than appreciative of his compassion, staring at him incredulously. ''Why don't we all have a seat and talk about this?''

''Good idea, Dad.'' Seth handed me the extra helmet he'd been using and headed for the kitchen. ''Is dinner ready? I'm starved, chili cheese fries don't last as long as they used to. I blame the lack of adequate competition, it lowers the quality control drastically when one place is the only source for…….''

''Hold it right there.'' Mrs. Cohen hadn't moved, she was still glaring at me and not even her husband appeared willing to intercede, this time. I was standing my ground, determined that she wouldn't push me around like she did her son. ''Ryan, isn't it?'' I nodded, matching her glare for glare. ''Well, Ryan, I don't know what kind of loose parenting you've been used to……..''

''Domestic abuse, mostly.'' Her eyes widened satisfactorily, she actually flinched back from me. Mr. Cohen frowned thoughtfully, and I cursed my temper for letting that slip in front of him. Now I'd have to explain, to keep him from calling his friend in Child Services; and I hadn't wanted Seth to ever find out about that stuff. Especially with the horrified expression on his face. **Great**, lunch tomorrow was going to be hell (and very, very awkward), way to shoot your mouth off, Ry. I couldn't seem to shut up, either, I just hoped I wasn't about to blow _**everything**_. ''Which is how I **know** there worse things that can happen to your 'precious baby' than a _motorcycle ride_, for crying out loud.'' I stepped forward, taking advantage of their shocked silence. ''I can't tell you how to raise your son; but I **can** tell you that if you keep over-protecting him, he really **will** be the loser everyone thinks he is.'' I turned away,_ clacking_ the helmets together as I yanked open the door. ''See you for lunch tomorrow, Seth.'' She couldn't keep me from visiting him on campus, not without making a big scene about it. I was betting she wasn't willing to do that.

''Hey, kid.'' I hadn't released the brake when I tried to push the thing down the drive, so I was still in the Cohen's driveway when the man of the house stepped out through the door I'd slammed after me.

''Sorry.'' I was too, but more for losing (probably) a new friend than for yelling at Kirsten Cohen. Although, if Julie ever found out about **that**, I was most likely dead meat. People with very few friends tended to be extremely protective of the ones they had. Witness my meltdown, just now. ''I'll be off the property soon.''

''Ryan.'' It wasn't Sandy who spoke, it was his wife. She was standing in the doorway, hands folded together. Oddly enough, she looked just as embarrassed as I felt, and there wasn't a trace of pity in her expression. ''I'm sorry.'' What the **fuck**? What could she possibly be apologizing to** me** for (if she wasn't speaking out of pity for what I'd revealed about my background) ? ''I over-reacted, really. We're just not used to Seth being out of the house, I guess I freaked a little when I couldn't find him.'' No kidding, I thought; thankfully to myself, this time.

''I was out of line.'' I mumbled, fiddling with the controls to the new ride. Knowing I was right about Seth's situation didn't make pointing it out the right thing to do. I should really know better, what with my experience at people butting into my own life and the fallout there-from. ''Sorry.'' I owed them a better apology than that, but I was all twisted up about how they were acting. I wasn't used to people who behaved like this; forgiving and reasonable.

It was weird.

''We're just glad he was with a friend.'' There was that hand on my shoulder again, conveying friendly regard and supportive concern. This time, it was from the older Cohen, and I raised my head to look him in the eyes. What had I done, for him to be looking at me like** that**, like he thought I was something special? Someone good? ''Why don't you join us for dinner? You must be starved.''

I nodded dumbly, unable to speak, helpless not to follow him (his hand still on my shoulder); ducking my head to hide the shock in my eyes. It would've stayed hidden, too; if Kirsten hadn't put her own comforting hand on my other shoulder when I got to the doorway. She smiled reassuringly at my gape-mouthed startlement, squeezing gently, and the two weirdest parents I'd ever met escorted me between them into their home.

--xxx—

Dinner last night had been uncomfortable, but not as bad as I'd expected. Talk hadn't touched **once **on my 'domestic abuse' background, which had been a huge relief and enabled me to actually eat. I'd given them that better apology before we even sat down and they brushed it off, glad, they said, to have Seth's friend be so protective of him.

Seth's friend. That had a nice ring to it.

Conversation had centered around how they** felt** about having us tool around on my (new) bike and how they just wanted him to be safe. They didn't seem to consider **who** he was hanging out with to be the problem, just that he hadn't checked in. He'd come back with stuff about how cool I was, his first **real** friend (which was nice, if embarrassing), and how they couldn't expect him to bond with 'these pod people'. I thought his pointing out that he hadn't been able to get in contact with them was a bad move, but they actually accepted the failure at their end of things, and promised to be more available. Somehow, through the maelstrom of shock, envy, relief, shame, and growing respect, I managed to choke out a few comments about my own lack of friends (**ever**, except for Trey) and the observation that Seth, himself, was cool. It'd only gotten better from there, as the talk turned to easier topics; like the coming summer vacation, in general, and **The** Summer, in specific. I was really learning things, hanging with this guy. Not only had I discovered what 'strident' meant, now I knew what it was to 'wax poetic'.

My bike moved through traffic, smooth as silk, on my way to The Mermaid Inn after dropping Seth off at school. Spend the morning showing Meredith what I could do when I took my time, lunch at a place that looked more like a college than a high school, and the afternoon at the library, followed by my friend's first fighting lesson. Seeing the way he hunched into himself on his way to class, I figured I really had my work cut out for me.

I parked my ride, turning off the engine and pulling off my helmet. I didn't look around: being obvious about checking your peripherals screamed 'I'm up to no good', which I was. Checking my surroundings out of the corner of my eyes was good enough, especially as my stripping experience gave me practice with **feeling** people watching me. I no longer had to see anyone to know if I was being observed. My pace was casual, my thoughts already sliding away from the teenager I was with the Cohens and into a more professional mindset. I found the agreed-upon room and knocked, smiling my best sultry smile when Meredith opened the door.

''Come in.'' She was smiling, too; a lustful stretch of her lips. Looked like she'd enjoyed her experience at the country club and was eager to repeat it. She closed the door behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder, catching her checking out my ass. ''Sorry.''

''Why?'' I set the helmet on the dresser and took off my jacket. Saying anything like 'that's what I was here for' or 'that's what you're paying me for' would be a mistake. I turned my head with an appreciative smirk and eyed her up and down. ''Yours is good too.'' She shook her head, frowning. Ah, here it came, what I called the 'new customer chat'.

''I know you **have** to say things like that……'' I could practically read her mind, right then, I'd heard this so often. 'I'm so pathetic, I have to pay for it' was probably her chief thought, followed closely by 'what the hell am I doing?' which would put a halt to my getting paid. Couldn't have that. Besides, I'd told the truth (as I saw it) that night. She **did** deserve to receive a little (with my skills, more than a little) physical pleasure to offset her emotional pain, and** this** was a hell of lot safer than booze or drugs.

''No I don't.'' Her brow furrowed in confusion at my rebuttal, and I leaned a hip against the dresser, hands in my jeans pockets. The conversation was familiar, I'd had it at least once (with minor variations) with each of my regular customers, back in L.A. They assumed, since they were paying me, that there was no** real** attraction. Time for a touch of honesty, but just a touch; just enough to reassure her, and we could get on with it. ''Look, my boss doesn't **make** me take jobs. If I hadn't enjoyed myself that night..….'' I raked her with my gaze again, and this time she blushed, remembering, most likely. ''…..I wouldn't even **be** here now. And if you weren't **hot**, I would've blown my first gig.'' I didn't mention that it'd just been my first job **here**, I figured she needed the ego boost of thinking she was the first customer I'd ever had..

''I was your first …….patron?'' Bingo. She sounded all flattered and happy, eyes shining as I nodded. The patron thing was nice, I'd never heard it called something that classy-sounding before. I'd have to mention the term to Trey, it inspired a much better mental image than any of the other labels for our profession. Reassured, she kicked off her sneakers, smiling at me again.

I kicked off mine, raising my eyebrows challengingly at her. Our shirts hit the floor within seconds of each other (my tee and her polo) and she paused, licking her lips as she eyed my torso. I went over, let her run her hands over my chest, my shoulders, and on up to cup my face, pulling me to her for a hard kiss. The lace of her bra was a mild itch on my chest, so I moved to unclasp it, caressing her back on the way; trailing my lips down her throat as I removed the fabric. Much better.

Thumbing her nipples, I mouthed my way down to her chest, grabbing her ass and pressing her body tight against me. She moaned when I started sucking at her breasts, gasping excitedly when I dragged a nipple gently between my teeth. I backed her to the bed, sliding my fingers under the waist of her slacks. Her hips bucked into me, grinding against my hardening length. Undoing her pants, I pulled them (and her panties) slowly down, trailing kisses over her stomach as I bared the damp flesh between her legs.

Meredith sat on the bed, gazing hungrily down to where I knelt before her, freeing the tangled fabric from her ankles and tossing her socks aside. Running my hands up and down her calves, I maintained eye contact as I planted kisses up from her knees, alternating thighs on my way towards her pussy. She leaned back onto her elbows, spreading her legs for me. She moaned, arching, when I pressed my lips to her clit. It became a groan at the slow drag of my tongue along her opening, a whimper as I continued to tease her with my mouth, keeping to the outside of her increasingly wet cunt. Grabbing my hair with one hand, she tried to push my face deeper in. I tightened the muscles in my neck, resisting.

''You wanted me to take my time." I reminded her, breathing the words against her swollen, intimate flesh. She fell back completely prone, returning her hand to fist the covers when I shot my tongue quickly in and out, like a lizard. I blew softly over the area, feathering my fingers along her hips.

''Please…….'' She begged, beginning to thrash, and I reminded myself that she wasn't used to this.

Taking pity on her, I thrust my tongue deep in, sliding one hand up to cover her breast, playing gently with the nipple. Her moans started sounding more pleased, less desperate. Each swipe pushed between her tightening folds, ending with a hard suck of that trembling bundle of nerve endings. She bucked wildly upwards as she came, shaking her head from side to side and groaning when I pushed a finger inside to rub her spot at the apex of it. She went limp in the aftermath, giving me the opportunity to get my pants off. Her eyes were burning at me as I covered my dick; she rolled over onto her knees, legs still spread, pulling a pillow from the top of the bed to wrap her arms around.

''Ready?'' I knelt on the bed behind her, caressing her hips and ass, smirking a bit (if she couldn't see me, I didn't have to control my expression) at how easy her chosen position was going to make this.

''**Hell**, yeah.'' She gasped, thrusting her hips backward insistently. Not only ready, it seemed, but eager and so very, very willing. Nice to know my efforts hadn't gone unappreciated. ''Oh, God!'' Meredith yelled as I shoved my cock all the way in with one forceful move. ''Oh my **God**.'' She moaned more softly, curling into the pillow with her eyes shut tight, her face filled with pleasure.

''Yeah.'' I grunted, giving in a little to my own enjoyment. The 'patron' wasn't the only one who had a right to feel good, and she felt pretty damn good to me, walls caressing my joint as I began to move slowly in and out.

Hearing a note of disappointment in her moans, I stopped running my hands over her lower back and took a solid grip on her hips. Well, all right; if that's how she wanted it. I thrust forward sharply, pulling hard at her hips. **Now** her shouts held an air of satisfaction, she groaned happily as her back arched, trying to take me deeper. Of all the people to like it a little rough, I thought with some amusement, thrusting my hips forward harder and harder into the willing folds. The more savage I moved, the better she seemed to enjoy it; she'd come three more times when I started to have difficulty holding my own climax back.

She shouted wordlessly, throwing back her sweat-soaked head, body tensing as she came again, my fingers instantly soaked when I pressed them firmly to her clit. She seemed to go wild at the contact, crying out incoherently as I massaged the nub, slamming into her with increasing violence, bracing myself on the mattress with my free hand. I couldn't tell whether she had another **two** orgasms, or if dragging my teeth softly over her shoulder just sent the sixth into overtime; but I knew, by the quality of her screams, that we were finished (for the day, anyway) and spent with a pleased grunt.

I rested my weight on my elbows, knowing that catching her breath would be next to impossible with me crushing her to the bed. It'd been a good one for me, too. My 'patron' curled into a little ball when I withdrew, seeming pissed as hell that I wasn't even panting, but lacking the energy to even speak. I recognized the reaction and tossed a blanket over her instead of wiping her clean with a warm washcloth, or giving her a massage to help bring her down, like I'd usually do. Right now, there was no** way** she was going to want me to touch her; not with every nerve ending still shooting jolts of pleasure to her brain. Endorphins were great, especially since, when you were approaching overload, they started to hurt; thereby letting you (most none-bdsm people, anyway) know that is was time to stop. She was still shivering in the aftermath of it by the time I was dressed, so I added another blanket and pulled the sweaty pillow she was clutching out of her limp grasp, handing her one of the others. Her eyes were dazed as she stared at me like I was some kind of mutant. I guess my mind was already making the shift back to teenager, because I couldn't keep from gloating; in my 'working' voice, yet.

''Now you know what I can do when I take my time.'' Meredith's eyes bugged and she swallowed hard; half in fear, half in anticipation. ''See you.'' She whimpered, curling tighter, and I knew she'd just been hit by a flashback, mind making the connection between our next scheduled appointment and what had happened during this one. I made sure the door was locked as I left, knowing the fucked senseless soccer mom inside wasn't in any condition (at the moment) to take precautionary measures.

Checking my watch as I straddled my bike, I decided to stop for a snack on my way to meet Seth for lunch. Talking with him was strange enough, without having to explain the pussy on my breath.

--xxx—

**A/N: **Okay, weird place to leave it. To quote the great Waltzy: 'they can't all be cliffhangers'.


	4. New Friends

**A/N: **Extra-long chapter and no smut (b/c I tranqed the bunnies).

Deal with it.

--xxx—

''Oh, oh, **oh**!'' The excited cries were loud, hopefully the neighbors wouldn't call the cops.

''_damn_.'' I tried to hint to my companion by my own soft tones that we didn't have to shout, that we could enjoy ourselves quietly.

''Where's your head, dude? Where'd it go? I'm sorry, did someone die?'' The video representation of my chosen character was graphically bleeding all over the screen in the living room, it's pixilated form unresponsive to the buttons on my controller.

''Hunh.'' It was the fifth straight game in a **row** I'd lost, and I was starting to wish I'd stuck to my guns and kept the kid over at my place, in the converted gym. Somehow, though, we'd ending up in his living room; and Seth's first fighting lesson had become a Playstation marathon.

''Hey, maybe we could play Grand Theft Auto? You might have better luck with something you can relate to from your real life.'' I **knew** I never should've told him about the things 'Turo and I had done. But he'd just gone off on this rambling speculation of the kind of life I'd lived and I'd blurted out some stories to distract him when he'd come too close to the actual, current truth. It was creepy, how close he'd gotten with wild, random guessing; but I guess the tales I'd told about some of my hook-ups had put his mind onto** that** track and then he'd just taken off, like a runaway train.

Talking about Chino and not mentioning the really ugly stuff was hard; but I think I managed to keep it from sounding like Disney-land without scaring the shit out of him. From the way he was acting, though, you'd think I had a whole career as a chop-shopper, instead of boosting** one** car to try and score with this gear-head chick. It'd turned out she was gay; and all she wanted was to play with the** vehicle's** gear-shift, instead of mine. Learning that there was a girl behind that story (all right, behind most of the stories) meant that it would only be a matter of time before he……..

''Okay, you've seen the glory that is Summer……'' yeah, here we went ''……I've told you about her…….'' more than I'd ever wanted to know, really. I mean, squirrels? ''……so……what do you think of her?'' He started up a new game, already having caught on to the fact that I talked more readily with something to distract me from the conversation. Bastard. I decided to torture him a little. I mean, I'd lost _**five**_** straight** **games**, after all. I was due some payback.

''You were right, she's unb**eliev**ably hot.'' I pretended not to see the uneasy glance he gave me, taking advantage of his inattention to stab his ninja icon. I kept my gaze focused on the screen, knowing I wouldn't be able to hold it, looking him in the eyes. ''She doesn't have a boyfriend, right?'' I tried to inject as much interest into my voice as possible, fighting the urge to snicker at his horrified expression. Take **that**, I thought, stabbing his ninja again. I'd only gotten one of the game's fighting moves to work, so I was sticking with it. He was apparently too frozen with fear about my going after his love interest to fight back (his character was just standing there, letting me stab it) so I let him off the hook. ''I don't know. You think a Newport princess and a guy like me…….?'' I don't know if it was the raised eyebrows as I glanced over or the altered Star Wars quote that hit it home for him; but he gasped in outraged relief.

''Asshole!'' He turned his attention back to the game, too late to save his ninja. ''You suck, you know that?'' I closed my eyes, dropping the controller and stretching backwards, happy to have won at least **one**. I think he picked up on my reluctance to continue getting my (virtual) ass beat, because I could hear him putting the game away. ''Come on, Ryan, seriously.'' The pleading in his voice, combined with his use of my name, sobered me a little. I grabbed a handful of junk food and leaned back.

''Seriously?'' I asked the question around a Slim Jim. He nodded somewhat frantically, eagerly plunking himself back down beside me. ''I think she's lonely.'' His face crinkled up and I could tell he didn't get it. ''I know she's got all these people around her..….'' He nodded again, still frowning, trying to figure it out himself. ''…….. I just don't think any of them are her friends.''

''Of course they're her friends.'' He protested, sounding offended that I would think the object of his affection wasn't someone people liked. ''They hang out together all the time; she and that Holly girl are practically inseparable. They go shopping, and to the spa……….''

''Seth.''

''…….and they're always at the beach together…….''

''Seth.''

''………every weekend she's invited to some party or other……''

''Seth!'' I sighed, shifting my gaze away from his mildly hurt expression (I'd never yelled at him before) to stare out at the fantastic view, watching the sun set. ''There's a difference between hanging out and having friends.'' Personal experience was heavy in my voice, it must've gotten through on some level, because he stayed silent. I took the opportunity to drive my point further in. ''If something happened, if she needed help; do you think even** one** of those people would be there for her?'' It wasn't just that they were rich, either. No one in Chino had ever lifted a finger to help me without wanting something in return. Even Theresa's mom had seen nothing wrong in putting my eight-year-old ass to work in her yard (all damn day, in summer) in exchange for a used pair of sneakers or a safe place to sleep.

''**I** would.'' It was the shortest sentence he'd ever said, and the most sincere. I didn't doubt for a minute that he would give up everything, including his chance to be her boyfriend, just to make sure **she** was all right, that she had whatever (whomever) she needed to be happy.

''I know.'' I turned back to him, smiling a little at the yearning on his face. He had it so **very** bad. ''Just show her that you'd be a good friend, and the rest will come.'' I hoped so, anyway. I was staring to wish that I'd actually met the girl, face to face. Observations from a distance were all well and good; but I wanted my gut to weigh in before I supported this thing going any further, and that required talking to her. I don't care how gone he was, if she was some empty-headed hot and cold bimbo, she was never getting anywhere near him.

''Any ideas on how I **do** that? Note in her locker? Text her? Take out an ad? A billboard? Rent a balloon? Doves, maybe?'' Seth scowled at my constant shrugging, apparently taking it as a lack of interest. ''Gimme **something**, man. What did you used to do with **your **girlfriends?'' Uh-oh. We were slipping into dangerous territory again. Thankfully, the term he used for the chicks I'd hooked up with gave me a hint on how to handle this. Or at least how to phrase things.

''I've never** had** a girlfriend.'' Theresa doesn't count, I told myself, she'd never really acted like a 'girlfriend', anyway. She'd spent plenty of nights with other guys, and this was when we were 'together'. It was like: when I had my clothes** on**, I was this huge inconvenience, free-loading off her family. The fact it was basically true just made the things she said (and the way she acted) when we were in bed together seem hollow and mean-spirited.

Hearing her say that she loved me was particularly painful.

''But you said……'' I don't know if he was more disappointed at the thought that I might still be a virgin, or that I might have made up the stories I'd told him. ''You said you'd had lots of girls.'' He protested, so I gave him a significant look, at which he blushed, and looked away. ''Okay, got it. 'Had' as in literally, 'had'. Not big with the dating tips, then.''

''Not unless you think she likes back seats or school closets.'' Fuck, why had I said that? And to him? I really needed to learn how to control my mouth in this house. One of these days I was gonna say something I couldn't take back, or something that blew my cover; and then all hell would break loose. With his dad in the public defender's office and his mom's friendship with my boss (not to mention the lady of the manor herself): any screw-ups and I'd be lucky to have the **luxury** of worrying about Max.

''There must've been a bed or two in there somewhere. I mean, the law of averages **alone **would account for at least **one** mattress mambo.'' He was picking up our mess from the 'championship match' so I got up and started cleaning as well.

''Sometimes.'' I admitted, shrugging again, gathering my share of the trash and dirty plates. ''When their moms were gone or mine was passed out.'' Shit, there I went again, over-sharing. Why did he have to be so fucking easy to talk to? Seriously, the last time I'd talked this much was when I'd gotten blind drunk with Spencer, last Christmas. Reminding myself to _shut up_, I stood fully upright and turned towards the kitchen.

And all coherent thought left me, because his mother was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, obviously having heard every single word.

''Oh shit.'' Seth muttered. I couldn't even gather the willpower to nudge him (who was she gonna blame for his foul mouth, after all) but he fell silent anyway. I knew we were both probably thinking the same thing exact thing.

How long had she been there?

''Seth, why don't you set the table.'' Okay, she didn't sound too incredibly pissed off. She sounded a little amused, truthfully. Maybe she thought it was 'cute' or something. Maybe I wasn't about to be prohibited from being friends with Seth. Her eyes narrowed at me as he scurried past her and I swallowed hard.

Maybe I'd just be lucky to get out of here with my balls intact.

I mean, facing her down when she was clearly in the wrong about over-protecting her son was one thing.

Getting busted discussing the sordid details (including the life-saving importance of condoms) about random, casual sex with her baby boy was another.

''Hey.'' My throat was beyond dry, I didn't dare look away. Something about showing fear? It was very important to watch her eyes, I knew **that** much. The eyes, not the shoulders, were key. Only, her eyes, though irritated, weren't threatening at all. I decided to try a move from Seth's playbook and say something from popular culture. ''Mrs. C.'' Her mouth quirked and she looked away. Okay, good. She'd broken eye contact and almost laughed. Things were looking up.

''You're not old enough to remember that.'' She said shaking her head with what I hoped was a very tolerant amusement. That hope died (as did the hope that she hadn't heard very much) as she pierced me with serious, pale green eyes. ''It doesn't sound like you liked those girls very much.'' Oh hell. How was I supposed to answer that? If I said I did, I'd be lying and if I said I didn't……… Truth with a twist, then.

''Only fair, they didn't like me much either.'' I could see she didn't personally **get** the concept of sex as anything other than 'something special' shared between two people who, if not in love, at least **liked** each other. ''Seth's in love, you know.'' She nodded; from the look on her face, she didn't see what the one statement had to do with the other, but was willing to give me the rope. ''It'll be different for him, when he gets with Summer.'' As uncomfortable as she looked about the subject matter, Kirsten did (briefly) smile at the 'when' in that sentence; and that was a start to easing her doubts about me.

Or so I thought, until she spoke again.

''Isn't there **anyone** you like?'' Auburn hair and hazel eyes flashed into my head, gleaming in the rising sun. But I didn't want to talk about a girl I might never see again, and I really didn't **have** a 'love life' (sex career, yes; love life, no); so I deliberately mis-construed the question, taking 'like' to mean 'trust'.

'' Aside from Trey? There's you.'' She seemed shocked, even stunned, and I was glad that I wasn't the one feeling that way this time around. "Mr. C.'' She smiled a little at my joke, the expression faltering as I paused for thought. It wasn't that I didn't have anyone else on the list, it was that …….okay, so it was that I only had **one** person left on the list. ''I'm willing to give Summer a chance. And, of course, ……''

''Seth.'' I nodded at her completion of my list of trusted people, dropping my gaze to the stuff in my hands, shifting my feet uncomfortably. After a while (motivated by the thought that dinner was ready), I raised my head back up, seeing the weirdest expression on her face. Thinking she might be reading something into my putting Seth last, I tried to reassure her that his friendship meant a lot to me.

''He's a good kid.'' She smiled at me again, but it was different, this time. This wasn't amusement, or some attempt to convey her approval of my friendship with her son. No, this was that same tender and motherly expression she often gave Seth, the one that made me so jealous I couldn't watch her looking at him.

And she was directing it at **me**.

And she said the craziest thing I'd ever heard.

''So are you.''

--xxx—

The bed was against the far wall, legs actually lifted up onto the shallow steps. All the rest of the furniture was piled up near the 'kitchen' of the pool house, with the exercise and beach equipment lining the walls. We were using the cushions from the lounge chairs as our 'mat', arranging the yellow patterned ones in alteration with the dark brown ones. The surface was a little spongy, but I felt that the uncertainty of the footing was a fair trade for **knowing** that Seth wouldn't be hurt, when he fell. And I knew he was going to fall, it was his first lesson, after all. He did, too; repeatedly. Fifth time he _oofed_ onto his ass, I shifted my concentration (tired of seeing him sprawled helplessly on the ground) from correcting his stance to showing him how to throw a punch. After working with him for a while, though; I knew he had a bigger problem than putting his thumb on the inside, when he curled his fingers into a fist.

He wasn't a fighter.

It wasn't that he **wanted** to keep getting beat up, or that he liked looking like a wuss, or even that he was inept at learning this stuff. He was picking it up pretty quick, actually. But even when I was shoving him and calling him names (having reassured him, before-hand, that I didn't mean **any** of it), he still couldn't bring himself to take a swing. Desperate, I'd stooped to bad-mouthing Summer and his mom but, although his eyes flashed and his jaw tightened, he couldn't do it. He'd been taught so well for so long that 'violence never solved anything' that I think he actually believed it.

''It's hopeless, isn't it?'' We were taking a break, laying prone on the cushions, my friend trying to get his breath back. He was either in rotten shape, or he was exaggerating, trying to get out of 'voluntary P.E.', as he'd called it. Exaggerating, I decided, when a quick check showed he wasn't sweating hard enough to be breathing as heavily as he had been. I really wished he'd take at least some of this seriously. I couldn't be everywhere with him and one day, what came out of his mouth would send some jock over the edge and………. It seemed like he was reading my mind, as he continued to bemoan his lack of fighting ability. ''I'm doomed to be the punching bag for the water polo team for the rest of _high school_. I'll _**never**_ win Summer if people are stuffing me into lockers all the time. I might not even survive to **graduate**.'' I tried to loosen my jaw at his prediction, wishing Julie had given me another day or so before banning me from fighting Zach. Putting that guy in traction (and a few of the others) would go a long way to ensuring my new friend's longevity, I felt. On second thought, beating the shit out of the 'Neanderthal contingent' (Seth's term), while satisfying, wouldn't solve his problem. It might even make it worse, given that he was more readily available for the jackass's retribution than I was. And in a confrontation between my friend and my co-worker (or his pals); Seth was dead meat.

It was time for a change in tactics.

''I can't teach you how to fight.'' He sighed, sounding more relieved than disappointed. I couldn't blame him. It wasn't any fun to discover you sucked that badly at something the most retarded of your peers seemed able to handle with ease. Class wasn't over yet, though; and I had a feeling that he was gonna do real well at the new curriculum. ''I **can **teach you how to get away.''

''Dude, I already **know** how to run 'like a little bitch'.'' Now he sounded hurt, and he sat up, bracing himself on his palms as he shifted his weight in preparation to stand. I reached over and wrapped my fingers loosely around his right wrist. He looked at me curiously, I just raised my eyebrows at him. He frowned, tried to pull his arm free. ''Come on, Ryan, let go.'' There was no spark of fear, he apparently thought I was joking around. His mistake, this was serious business, and I meant to see that he learned** that**, if nothing else.

''I'm not Ryan.'' I braced myself up on my right elbow, keeping my grip on his arm with my left hand easily. He wasn't weak, but I was stronger, and he had no idea what he was doing. He'd frozen at my denial of my name, eyes wide with confusion. ''I'm some jock, and I'm gonna pound the shit out of you.'' His head tilted, I could see that he was starting to piece it together. The best thing about hanging with Seth was that he could reach a conclusion (sometimes even a correct one) with very little input on my part. Putting things in such a way that he went down the wrong line of reasoning wasn't my fault, but it still made me feel guilty. Mind on business, Atwood. Give him what he needs to make it to his next birthday. ''Unless you can make me let go, that is.'' He got it, and his enthusiasm for **this** plan made his earlier whining fade to insignificance.

''Oh, right, you're_ Luke_.'' I'd have to find out who that was later. Right now, he was smiling excitedly, looking down to where I was still holding onto his wrist. ''How do I do that?''

Somehow, he didn't have the same problems with the defensive moves I showed him. The trick of jerking back just as their fingers touched your chest, making them think they'd pushed you, when in fact you were unharmed; was his personal favorite. I took that to mean that the shove was the preferred move of the bored jock assholes who made his life such a hell. Much as I tried to keep it serious, the quips he shot off and the snickering that ensued made it seem like we were wrestling around for fun rather than attempting to teach him enough to keep him from becoming another high school abuse statistic. We ended up with him on his knees, me grabbing him around the chest from his right side. After wiggling for a bit, he gave in and asked for help.

''Throw your elbow back.'' His left arm jerked and I snorted. ''Other…..''

''Hey, guys……what the……?'' Even though the man didn't sound pissed, I released Seth and straightened up quickly. It was easier to explain why we'd rearranged the pool house (and why I'd had my arms around his son) if I was standing. The move turned out to be a huge mistake, because my friend was already following the instructions to 'throw back' his **other** elbow, and the blow that should've caught me (softly, I'd been prepped) in the solar plexus………

……..caught me right in the balls, instead.

I lost several minutes, a white-out of pain that was sharper than anything I'd experienced in years. When I could feel the rest of my body, I found myself kneeling right where I'd been standing, the ache to my kneecaps and my palms said I'd fallen straight down onto all fours. Sandy had a hand on my back, telling me to breath, his quiet voice in danger of being drowned out by Seth's panicked apologies. I couldn't manage to speak, quite yet, but I did make kind of a soothing grunt. Both Cohen men went silent for a second, then Seth was kneeling in front of me, his long face tight with worry.

''Ryan? I'm **so** sorry. I had **no** idea you'd stood up, I swear. Are you mad? Is it broken? Do you need the hospital?'' I tensed at the thought, shaking my head 'no', answering all his questions at the same time. Hospitals were full of well-meaning idiots who had no idea of the consequences when they 'helped' you talk to your mom about where the bruises came from. Never again. Then, of course, there was the embarrassing nature of my 'injury'. I'd just as soon no one (well, no one **else**) found out about this, most especially Trey. The 'worker's comp' digs he'd make………

Yeah, no way Trey** ever** finds out.

''Seth, why don't you go get some ice?'' I nodded my agreement at the man's suggestion, sending his son scampering towards the kitchen. It wasn't so bad, the sharp jabbing had already faded to a dull throb; I'd be back in shape in plenty of time to make my appointment with Meredith, tomorrow morning. My dick twitched in response to the thought, and I hissed in a breath. Right, think of something else, then. Like the weird undertone to Mr. Cohen's voice, and the fact that he still had a hand on my back. ''So, Kirsten's worried about you.'' _Please_ tell me he didn't mean……. I glanced over my shoulder at him, my fears about her having witnessed the …..incident……faded in the wild beating of my heart when I got a look at his expression. It was the same face he'd worn when he'd asked me if I was 'okay', after seeing my reaction upon waking up in a strange place. Oh **shit**. ''She wanted me to look into your file.'' Shit, shit,_** shit**_. I closed my eyes, the throbbing in my chest now more intense than that between my legs.

''Did you?'' I whispered it, terrified beyond belief that he **had**, that Child Services was waiting outside, that Trey was already……..

''No, I didn't.'' I almost collapsed from the relief of it. Moving carefully, ignoring the pain; I shifted so that I was sitting on the cushions, facing him, knees to my chest. Shaggy eyebrows lifted and I wondered what he was reading into my position. ''I won't say I wasn't tempted; more so now that I've seen your reaction to the idea.'' I wondered which idea he was referring to: the idea of having my privacy violated, the thought of them checking up on me, or just the concept of someone digging into events I wanted to leave buried and forgotten? He loosened his tie, piercing me with those grey eyes that promised understanding, begged trust. ''Guilt and shame are one thing. Fear ……… Trey's not your brother, is he?'' My throat locked before I could lie, silence stretching out, the moment I could believably protest that _yes_, _he was a blood relative_ came and went. There was such detail in the fabric of my jeans, I'd never noticed before my gaze had become frozen on my knees. Here it came: the axe, the hammer, the other shoe; it was all about to fall. ''I can protect you from him, Ryan, if……..'' I let out a snort of laughter, uncurling to brace myself back on my hands.

''You think I'm afraid of _**Trey**_?'' Fuck, the thought was so ludicrous, it enabled me to look back into his face. ''He saved my **life**. I've got more to fear from **you** then from _Trey_.'' It was the truth, as bare as any I'd ever spoken in this house. My brother would never hurt me, never interfere with my life without my permission. This man, with his compassion and his good intentions, had the potential to completely destroy me.

My gut telling me to trust them both was confusing the shit out of me, so I was pulling back from the new relationship to remain loyal to the old.

''I could help him adopt you, if you want; my contacts…….'' Another snort of laughter interrupted him, and I couldn't keep from smirking at him. Even without the questionable nature of our jobs, or my experience with the system; no **way** was **that** ever gonna happen.

''Yeah, the courts are just **dying** to hand a teenager over to a twenty-something single **guy**.'' He didn't look surprised at either the snarling bite of sarcasm to my tone or the facts I was laying out. I think he might even have been a little proud (which made no sense) and depressed (truth hurts) that I knew the flaws in the way Child Services operated. ''I've seen the kind of perverts they consider to be 'model' parents. I'd rather live on the street.'' Seth's approaching form, ice packs filling his hands, caught my attention, and I softened my tone. ''All that'll happen if you dig up that file is that I'll lose the first person who ever cared about me.'' We were silent, locking gazes, as his son came back into the room.

''Here you go. There's frozen vegetables if this isn't enough. Although, Dad; if he winds up using them, I'd really prefer we not **eat** those packages.'' I settled the ice gingerly into place, closing my eyes as the chill started to numb the pulsing ache.

''Okay, son; we won't do that, then.'' I nodded, hearing the words directed more at me than to his actual son. Life slid back into place, 'good' once more. My gut knew he'd keep the unspoken promise not to go poking around in my past like I knew Trey would rather go to jail than see Max within five miles of me. Looked like my gut was right (again); both men could be trusted, each with their own, separate, parts of my life. ''Can you move? Dinner was almost ready when I came to get you.''

''I'm still working on** breathing**.'' I shot a grin up at my friend, shifting around to take advantage of the spreading numbness. ''You're a lot stronger than you look.'' I thought he'd be flattered, but he looked more anxious that he'd 'really hurt me'.

''I'm so sorry……'' I didn't want to listen to another rambling apology, so I interrupted before he got any momentum to it.

''It's okay.'' My eyes darted over to his father, acknowledging the man's willingness to accede to my request for silence on the matter of my past as well as accepting his son's apology. I addressed my words to them both. ''We're good.''

--xxx—

I was early.

Meredith had attacked me as soon as I'd entered the room, asking for it quick and dirty because she 'had errands to run'. It was the most surreal reasoning I'd ever heard from a patron (I was liking that term more and more) but I'd obliged. She'd been wearing just a robe in anticipation (and was already wet) so it had been a simple matter of dropping my pants, applying the condom, and working the rhythm. I hadn't even taken my jacket off, which had seemed to excite her even more than usual. Four orgasms later, I'd let go my own climax, bracing my palms on the dresser while I waited for her to recover enough to stand.

Five minutes after **that**, I'd been back on my bike with nearly an hour and a half to kill before it was time for lunch.

I'd stopped at a coffee shop to check for any signs (lipstick on my shirt or face, smell of sex) that I'd been 'working'. Aside from a smug tilt to my mouth, I was good. Quick stop at the local library to apply for a card (now that I knew my address) and it was off to Harbor to meet Seth. Only, I'd obviously mis-calculated the travel time, because the crowd of students wandering around was smaller than it usually was during the lunch break. Checking my watch, I scowled; because now I had half an hour to kill. Spending my time sitting in the parking lot didn't appeal, and I had to admit to a burning curiosity to see what the rest of this place looked like. All I'd seen, thus far, had been student parking, a section of the courtyard, the patio table we ate at, and the cafeteria.

Locking the bike down, I secured the helmet and strolled as casually as I could onto campus. Seeing the layout of the place and the lines of the buildings made my fingers itch for my sketchbook. I wasn't ready to show Seth (to show anyone, really) that part of my life, though, so I'd left it at home. Probably still should've brought it, if only to make passing myself off as someone who 'belonged' easier. Maybe it would even have stopped the security guy from coming over as I stood there, staring at the sign and trying to wrap my head around a **high school** with tennis courts and a swimming pool.

''You lost?'' Big guy, gruff voice; he was fingering his belt, too. I flinched, but managed to keep it internal. I had to stop reacting like that, someone would eventually look for why I was so nervous and find out everything I didn't want them to know.

''No, sir.'' I told myself that there was no reason** not** to look him in the eye. This wasn't Chino, where such action was taken as a challenge. My gaze refused to go higher than his jaw, however; no matter how hard I tried to raise it.

''Let's see some id.'' He put out a hand and I swallowed, very glad Trey had supplied my new (mostly legit) driver's license (with a permit for the motorcycle) last night. The guard frowned at the laminated card, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from instantly apologizing. ''Well, Mr. Atwood…..''It was never a good sign, being addressed that way by persons of authority, when you were a teenager. Bad news (failing grades, criminal charges) were always delivered formally; while good news came with the friendly use of one's first name. Until Trey, I hadn't heard my first name used by anyone over eighteen since my mother'd died. ''…..since you're not a student, I'm going to have ask you to leave.''

''I've had lunch here the last three days.'' He didn't look like he was happy at my pointing out the ridiculousness of him showing me the figurative door after I'd already spent most of the week hanging out. The question of why he was harassing me out of nowhere like this became a lot clearer when I saw a familiar face across the way. Zach. Figured. It was actually kind of clever. If I got into a hassle with this guy, I might get marked up; and I'd definitely get into trouble with Julie. I racked my brain for something to keep from getting hauled off for 'trespassing'. ''My neighbor's a student here: Seth Cohen.'' Rent-a-cop still didn't look happy, tapping my id against his knuckles; and I felt my stomach start to twist, already imaging what the back seat of an Orange County sheriff's vehicle would look like. .

''That's totally true.'' We both turned our heads to see who'd spoken, and I found myself staring in amazement at Summer Roberts. Her crowd of giggling bimbos was hanging back, whispering behind their hands as they stared. From the way their eyes (and hers) roved over me, I didn't have to guess very hard to know what they were whispering about. What I couldn't guess was why she was becoming involved. It didn't make any sense, she didn't know me from Adam. ''He's a student guest and everything. Completely harmless, I promise.'' She took my arm and smiled at the guard, making me uncomfortable as hell. Shit, so that's why she'd gotten involved; to gain an introduction. I hoped the Atwood luck wasn't paying attention, because I **really** didn't need for my friend's love interest to start chasing after me.

** Last** thing I needed, seriously.

I'd almost rather be arrested.

''All right then.'' My id was reluctantly returned to me, Zach and his pals looking near murderous at how close the brunette girl was standing, our arms linked. I just didn't care that much about their threatening postures. What I was **really** concerned with was how Seth would react, if he saw me practically holding hands with the object of his desire.'' Just stay with your friend, all right? No wandering around by yourself.'' With the return of my license, the guy went from 'thug' to 'just trying to do his job'.

''Yes, sir.'' He even smiled at me as he walked away, headed towards the group of jocks. Good, looked like he hadn't appreciated getting sent on a wild goose chase. Speaking of wild geese, the volume of simple-minded amusement from her friends rose a bit when I turned, becoming disappointed moans when I pulled my arm free of her grasp. ''Thanks.''

''You're welcome.'' She was smiling at me, her gaze was frank as she eyed me up and down, a furrow appearing between her brows as I shook my head at her. ''What?''

''It's not gonna happen.'' Even if she hadn't been Seth's 'angel', I still couldn't imagine it. Not that I had anything against girls my own age (and she was certainly a hot example thereof) it was just that they (and she) were so………well, not stupid. Immature, I guess. Concerned with the most inane, trivial, **bullshit**. To the point that I just wanted to shake them until they realized that there was more to life than high school popularity games, that their petty maneuvering** hurt** people. The ones that weren't **that** deluded were either the ones that had gotten a sharp dose of reality (usually right upside their heads) or the ones that were just looking for their next boy to toy with. I was willing to hold off on classing **this** girl in with the others not only for my friend, but because she'd come over to help me with the guard. Yes, she might have had ulterior motives for doing so; but she **had** helped. That was more than most kids our age would even** think** about doing.

''Why not?'' She pouted her lip a little, obviously used to getting her own way. I could see a little hint of uncertainty, though. It made me curious, to tell the truth. I mean, the popular ones weren't usually insecure about their appeal in regards to the opposite sex.

''We've barely met, we have nothing in common, ,…..'' my best friend's in love with you ''……….we're from two different worlds; all of the above……'' She frowned, tilting her head at me contemplatively. Okay, **now** I believed Seth about her being different. Instead of getting offended (calling me gay) at the rejection and stomping off in a huff, she was actually thinking about it. Compassionate and smart, she was matching up to the guy's (nearly endless) list of her attributes, all right.

''So where **are **you from?'' Stubborn, that was a trait my neighbor hadn't mentioned. More proof he'd been telling the truth, when he confessed he'd never spoken to her.

''Chino.'' I always enjoyed the shocked look people got when I told them that. I suppose it was a weird sort of thrill, watching them flinch when I admitted my origins. The pity and/or disgust that followed, though; **that** I could live without.

''Ew.'' Her face crinkled a bit, a pretty mild reaction, not at all what I was expecting from a junior (what had Sandy called them?) Newpsie. ''Well, I was **going** to invite you to sit with me.'' I wasn't disappointed to lose that opportunity, sitting with the 'popular' crowd. Spending my meal being glared at by the guys while the girls felt me up under the table: not my favorite way to eat lunch.

''Funny, I was gonna make the same invitation.'' Her brown eyes widened and I smirked at her dismayed expression. I saw Seth come out of a nearby building and waved him over. She actually paled a little at his approach, and I wondered if she was more afraid of her 'friends' response to seeing her talking to him; or of finding out that he would make a better friend than any of the ones she had now.

''Hanging with that Emo geek would destroy my reputation.'' Summer was protesting, taking a step back from me in social horror. ''Do you know what you're asking me to do?'' Well, that doesn't sound shallow at all, I thought sarcastically. I had to give her credit, though; she wasn't being cruel to his face, and the terms she described him with were a lot milder than most girls in her position would use.

''Think for yourself?'' I shrugged, conveying disinterest despite my gut telling me she was better than she was coming off. ''Let me know when you want to pick your own friends.'' I went towards the Cohen kid, pretending I didn't see the flare of disappointment in his eyes at the loss of an excuse to talk to Summer.

''What's going on?'' He asked, falling into step with me, shooting a regretful look over his shoulder at the object of his desire. His attention focused on me and something in my face made him frown. ''You weren't trying to set me up or something, were you? Because I told you, I'd rather not try and head game her; she just needs some time to realize how bad she wants me……..''Thankfully, I was able to stifle the urge to snort with laughter; I didn't even have to pretend to cough. ''……totally has to be her choice, you know?''

''Yeah.'' And I **did** know, kind of. I knew **I** valued the ability, freedom, and right to make my own decisions more than just about anything else. It had been that aspect to how Julie ran her stable that had finally quieted my doubts about the woman, after all. I suppose making someone else's choices **for** them(when they were capable of making those choices for themselves) was no way to show either respect or affection, and was definitely not the way to win their heart. ''Security guard hassled me about not being a student, she ran him off.''

''What did I tell you? See, she's totally different from those other girls……''

It was amazing, but in all the time he spent talking about her, he never once repeated himself. Oh, he covered the same subject matter (compassion, intelligence, beauty) but he used different phrasing and longer words (some of which might not have been actual words : glorificousness?) every time. But I don't think it really mattered that I had the occasional trouble following his train of thought or pattern of speech. Like it didn't matter that I was 'cooler' in the perceptions of our peers than he was, or that I was from Chino, or that I wasn't likely to end up attending this school with him.

What mattered is that I was **there,** that I was interested, that I actually enjoyed talking (when he let me get a word in) with him.

What** mattered** is that I was listening.

That I was his friend.

--xxx—

''Hey, kid.'' I blinked in the pre-dawn grey to see Sandy closing the back of the Cohen's Range Rover. The board shorts he was wearing and the glimpse I'd caught of the surf gear in the back of the vehicle clued me in as to why he was out here this early.

''Hey.'' There was a little time before I'd be late, I could afford to exchange pleasantries with my neighbor. That being decided, I all of a sudden couldn't think of anything to say.

''Using the organically powered one today?'' He indicated the pedaled bike I'd chosen (as opposed to the motored) out of a desire not to shatter the peace of the morning and I smiled at how alike he and his son were; because Seth had used the same exact phrase to differentiate my methods of transport. ''Work go okay yesterday?'' I thought desperately of poker, of stone; of anything to keep my features blank, to keep the events of the day before (working Taryn with Trey) from showing on my face. He frowned, and I figured I hadn't been all that successful. Shit. ''Seth didn't say where you were working.'' That was more like a command for information than a hint, but I still couldn't tell him. Legality aside, Julie's understandable wrath (if I blew the whole set-up) aside; I never wanted any of the Cohen's to find out about that part of my life.

Ever.

''Well, that would be because I didn't say.'' My tone was probably sharper than was polite, but I felt I had a right to be irritated. No one asked him to be concerned about me, to look at me (like he was now) the same way he looked at his son, when the guy did something (like walking out the front door) to make his parents worry.

Damn it, no one asked him to care.

''Ryan, if you need help………'' My jaw clenched, I looked away from his compassion. Which made the words I cut across his offer really unconvincing, but I meant them, regardless.

''I know what I'm doing.'' Despite the lack of believability conveyed by my body language, my voice was firm and even. It was my professional tone: the one I used with Julie or Trey as opposed to the huskier one I used with my patrons. Thinking about work always locked me up, emotionally; and I was able to look Sandy in the eye. ''It's better if you don't.'' It **was** better. Better for me that no one in this new life found out about my 'job' and better for **him** that he didn't realize what kind of person his son had become best friends with. ''I'll find something to tell Seth, keep him out of it.'' If I had to go crawling to Julie for an elaborate cover story to distract the kid, I would. Whatever it took to prevent my friend from ever knowing just what kind of things people were willing to do to each other (with each other), in the name of profitable pleasure.

''I don't suppose there's a way to keep **you** out of it?'' I gave him my blankest mask, the look that was just _there_; unconnected to the thoughts behind my eyes.** He** looked away this time, sighing with what sounded like regret. ''You look older than I do, sometimes.'' It didn't sound like a compliment; in fact he sounded like he was telling me I had cancer, or something. Like he was shoveling dirt onto my coffin, saying that. The grey in his gaze was a match for the air around us, giving him an eerie look as he locked eyes with me. ''Just know that you can come to me anytime, day or night. To talk, for help; whatever it is, I'm pretty good at keeping confidentiality.'' That's right, he was a public defender; the kind of lawyer that hauled guys like me out of hot water on a daily basis. He wasn't done, though, keeping me from looking away with the strength of his sincerity. ''And in **this** house…….'' He smiled a little, shrugging as he pulled his car keys out of his pocket. ''……..in our **home**, you can be as much of a teenager as you need to be.''

Sandy left to make his surfing appointment, and I waited until he was at the end of the street before I left for my ………whatever this was I was doing. At least now, after that little encounter with Mr. Cohen, I'd have something to think about while I watched the sky lighten. Of course, it would probably be more practical to try and think of something to say to the girl I was desperate to learn the name of. One week later, and I **still** had no idea what I was going to say if (when, damn it, **when**) I saw her again.

My heart picked up pace when I saw her silhouette against the pinkish light, sitting on the bench, I nearly (stupidly) left my bike unsecured in my eagerness to reach her side. I forced myself to lock the chain, to purchase the coffee, to stroll over rather than run. Mind still blank, I sat her cup within arm's reach, taking a silent seat next to her. The sweater was the same, the quiet morning just as comfortable as before. More so, because I'd been half-thinking that I'd imagined her in some sort of pre-exhaustion haze. I shifted my gaze out over the water to watch the sunrise, resting my forearms on my knees and sipping from the cup in my hands as I allowed thoughts to chase themselves across my mind.

Sandy's offer was good, I knew, and it was a relief to have somewhere I could just let go and be _sixteen_, for crying out loud. I just wished I dared take him up on the rest of it, that I could have someone to talk to about the things spending time with his family made me think about. Knowing he'd try and 'save' me, though; that it'd become this huge thing between us and probably destroy the relationship I had with Seth……… No, it wasn't worth the risk. The guy needed my friendship a lot more than I needed to vent about my dumbass problems.

So, that was that, then. I'd be his friend for as long as I was here (hopefully, at least a year) while avoiding his parents (mostly being **alone** with either or both of his parents) as much as I possibly could. Avoiding the man of the house was especially key; the guy had this uncanny ability to read me, to get inside my head and just **know** what I was thinking (or at least make a **real** good guess). Kirsten was someone to avoid if only because two of her oldest, dearest (very much married) friends were on my list of patrons. Fuck, I never wanted to encounter them as a group. All of us (including Julie) trying to cover our reaction in front of the smartest woman I'd ever met; smarter even than my boss.

We'd be blown before they finished walking in the door.

School might become an issue, with the Cohen's paying as close attention as they were. Maybe it was time to try public school again. That'd be a lot easier (and cheaper) to work out than the home-school thing. Of course, the 'tutor' dodge might be a good story for my patrons to use, so I guessed I'd better check with Trey before I mentioned what I'd be doing in the fall. With my S.A.T.-Ones only a month away (coinciding, oddly enough, with The Bait Shop's opening), it was a good idea to have several plans lined up for my scholastic career.

''Taylor Townsend.'' Startled, I raised my head from where I'd been staring at my (now-empty) coffee cup, so lost in my own thoughts I hadn't realized the sun had risen. I turned to look at the girl, her smile was openly friendly, but a little nervous. I must've looked confused or something, because it faltered as I continued to stare into her fantastic eyes. That little curl at the outer edge of each one was fascinating (as was the rest of her face) and I couldn't stop looking at her. Now she looked a** lot** nervous. ''That's my name? Taylor Townsend. That's who I am. Well, it's my **name**, anyway; there's no way you can tell someone who you are, **really** are, with just words. And that's if you actually **know** who you are, if you're not still trying to figure it out; which can get really confusing. I mean,……''

''Ryan Atwood.'' Okay, most guys would be running by now. This girl could probably out-chatter Seth. I had an inane thought of staging a ramble-off, just to see who would pass out from lack of oxygen first. The idea made me smile, which made her smile; and I decided that the sunrise was nothing compared to** that**. ''I just moved here.''

''Next door to Seth Cohen, your lunch buddy.'' I blinked, trying to remember if I'd seen her anywhere in the crowd at Harbor. It was the only place I could think of that she'd get that information, because I knew she didn't live in my new neighborhood. If nothing else, I would've spotted her car. No, I hadn't seen her on campus, either; not unless she did a **very** convincing impersonation of a tree. '' I don't eat lunch on the patio for safety reasons, but I **do** hear the gossip; and you are **very** much the hot topic. '' My mouth twisted and I looked down, not wanting her to misinterpret my disgust at the behavior of the people at that school as being directed at her. ''Biggest theory is that you're his new boyfriend.'' I snorted, twisting away briefly to toss my empty cup before returning my gaze to her face. ''I know, but they think you're 'cool' and if they admit you're friends with him, then they also have to admit to passing up on his friendship for shallow and self-serving reasons. Lumping you into the 'gay' category removes your 'coolness' and lets them keep their perception of themselves as decent people.'' It was the most insightfully honest explanation I'd ever heard for the retarded behavior of our fellow teenagers, but it still left me with questions. Okay, so they were more along the lines of 'wanna grab breakfast' than in-depth analysis of our peer group. I couldn't help it. I had the whole day, and I couldn't think of a better way to spend it then with her.

''So what's your reason?'' She tilted her head at me, eyebrows lifting. ''The 'safety reasons' for not coming out and sitting with us? '' I knew (to my great relief) that she didn't have a boyfriend. She was far too comfortable in my presence to be with someone.

''I didn't want the social committee to pull my hair out. They've pretty much laid claim to you; you should **hear** some of their schemes.'' She didn't sound like she thought it was funny. If anything, she sounded a little offended on my behalf.

''Hypocrites.'' I muttered, trying not to clench my hands as hard as I was my teeth. Taylor was raising her eyebrows again, sympathetically this time, so I shook my head to clear the anger from it. ''I mean, those are the same girls who'd probably pitch a fit if some guy treated them like 'slabs of meat'; but it's okay for **them** to objectify me?'' She was quiet for a while, thinking.

''I think people should be treated as people.'' We were facing each other across the expanse of bench between us, hands only inches apart along the back. She fiddled with the peeling paint, voice softly contemplative. ''How we behave towards each other is the only thing that's important; not what kind of clothes you wear or music you listen to or what your parents are like.''

''Yeah.'' I nodded in complete agreement, knowing how difficult such a theory was to live by. Maybe that's why she hadn't tried to befriend Seth; she was afraid of how much worse things would get, for them both. ''But sometimes, even when you fit, you don't.'' I'd been thinking of Summer, of how lonely her eyes were, but I ended up (seeing the expectation in those hazel orbs) talking about myself instead. ''If you're good at sports, you're supposed to be a jock; but what if you're also good at math, and **like** being good at it? What if you like comics **and** motorcycles? If you play poker and pool, it's 'cool'; but non-sport video games are somehow 'lame'? It's as if you have to choose between the things you like so that **they're** more comfortable.''

''But you don't.'' She smiled at me and I returned it, liking the respect and pride in her gaze. Liking, as well, that she never checked me out or, at least, wasn't so obvious about it I caught her doing so. It inspired me to show her the same courtesy. ''You don't let their opinions shape your actions.'' She bit her lip and dropped her eyes, ashamed. ''Not like me. I could've been a good friend to him; but I was afraid……'' So I'd guessed right, but that wasn't my main concern, just then.

Making her smile again (instead of looking guilty and depressed) was.

''Considering how hard they can make your life, being afraid is only smart.'' I wanted to comfort her somehow, and laid my hand over hers, where it rested on the back of the bench. My palm tingled at the contact, the look of confused surprise in her eyes told me she felt something as well. The up-and-down movement of my thumb over hers had been meant to be soothing, but that tingle made it erotic as hell, and a shiver of arousal (gentler than any I'd experienced) went through me. Her lips parted and I lifted my hand away before I could get too involved with wondering what they tasted like. I cleared my throat uncomfortably, wondering what the_ fuck_ was wrong with me, all of a sudden.

''I'm tired of being afraid.'' She had pulled the hand I'd touched into her lap, and was now twisting her fingers together. ''I'm tired of being afraid, and I'm tired of being alone.'' It hit me at that moment what I had in common with Seth (which I'd been wondering about) and now I saw that it connected me with her as well. Hell, it even had the chance to unite Summer to her not-so-secret admirer.

We were, all of us, lonely.

''So don't be.'' I stood, almost held out a hand to help her up before remembering that it might not be such a good idea. My palm was still tingling from where I'd laid it over her small fist, so I shoved my hands into my pockets. I'd intended to invite her to breakfast, but now I just wanted to get away, get control of myself before I did something (I wanted to kiss her so bad my lips actually **ached**) to destroy whatever this was (friendship?) between the two of us. ''Join us for lunch, tomorrow. I know Seth would love it.'' And I'd have someone to distract me from the thoughts that were currently flooding my mind, hardening my dick. She stood as well, thankfully keeping her eyes on mine, instead of what was going to make riding that bike home **very** uncomfortable. She looked a little uncertain, I think maybe she picked up on how spontaneous my desire to be elsewhere really was. I gave her a tiny smile, ducking my head over it bashfully like I hadn't done since I'd lost my virginity. ''So would I.''

''Me too.'' She had a gorgeous smile, I took an unconscious step towards her, into it's light. She blinked, gaze flicking to my lips, and then away, blushing. Guess her thoughts weren't any more pure than mine. She was the one to clear her throat, this time; and fidgeted her fingers in random tangling patterns. I was mesmerized by the motion, watching her start to extend one hand my way before jerking back to jam them both into the pockets of her sweater. ''Tomorrow, then.'' I nodded, not trusting my voice to say what I wanted it to, in the force of lust surging through me, just from that one touch. She was out of sight before I could speak, and it still came out a strangled, hopeful whisper of amazement.

''Tomorrow.''


	5. New Friends Deux

**A/N: **The bunnies are still kind of sleeping (I guess I used too much) so I'm doing all the stuff I left out of last chapter (because it was getting way too long) while I've got the chance.

--xxx—

''Dude, what's going on?''

''Nothing.'' I snapped my gaze back to Seth's face guiltily. I'd been looking for Taylor again, arching back to check out what I thought was a flash of auburn. It was starting to look like she'd chickened out and I couldn't decide if I was more disappointed for her sake, Seth's, or mine.

''Its not nothing.'' He was raising his eyebrows at me the same way his father did, when he was trying to get me to talk. ''First you take off at some ungodly hour yesterday with 'plans', then you come back before breakfast is over and don't poke your head out of your house until dinner.'' Well, that's because it'd taken all fucking **day** to get whatever the hell she'd done to me out of my system. Working the bag in the gym (and working myself in the shower) had finally gotten me to the point where I could control my thoughts again. Barely. ''After which you were kind of weird.'' **That **was due to the fact that I'd forgotten, right up until it was time to go home, that I wasn't actually **part** of his family. It'd hurt, not to mention that I felt like an ungrateful shit for wanting to stay that badly. It had felt like a betrayal of Trey, which was stupid, because **he** was the one who'd encouraged me to take them up on the standing invite of dinner in the first place. ''You were kind of weird this morning, too.'' Dreams involving the kind of life I could've had, the kind of life I could maybe make for myself, here; images of a girl smiling hazel at me………. ''You met someone, didn't you?'' Okay, what was **with** this family (the men, anyway) and their ability to get inside my head? It was seriously starting to creep me out. ''Some guy who would make a better friend? Someone cooler, maybe someone from work……?'' As much as I wanted to snicker (out of relief he couldn't **actually** read my mind) the hurt expression on his face made it not so funny. Movement out of the corner of my eyes was my only warning, my mouth closing on the reassurances I had started to give him; because the explanation was perfectly capable of speaking for herself.

''Sorry I'm late.'' The startled look on his face when Taylor just came up and sat down was hilarious. I was glad she hadn't made some big deal out of it, that she'd just joined us as casually as if she did so every day. ''Mr. Schmidt wanted me to stay after, something about integers?'' Seth glanced at her as she continued to go on about her schoolwork, then at me; and put it instantly together. He began smirking at me suggestively, so I tried to kick him under the table and got one of it's legs instead. She stopped rambling when the table jerked in response to my blow, blushing a little. ''How rude of me. Seth Cohen, I'm Taylor Townsend.'' I watched carefully as they shook hands, but he didn't seem to feel that same tingle I'd gotten, when I'd touched her hand, yesterday morning. I was relieved, but also confused. If it wasn't **her**, then what was it?

''Pleased to meet you, finally.'' There wasn't any condemnation in his voice about her never having spoke to him before, he sounded too happy she was joining us **now**. I was right, then; when I'd thought they (both of them) needed all the friends they could get. ''So, where did you meet our quiet friend, here? Because,_ Ryan_; you didn't tell me you'd run into the top of Harbor's dean's list.'' Well, looked like I'd also been right about her filling the emptiness of her life with academics. I wasn't so pleased about being correct about **that** one as I was the other. ''Come on now, nothing to be ashamed of, right?'' Shit, and I thought **I** had a dirty mind. And, damn it, he was** supposed** to be distracting me from thinking about sex (in regards to Taylor) not making suggestive comments.

''We had coffee yesterday.'' I didn't mention the prior meeting, just before our encounter at the diner. Somehow, I think he liked the idea that he was the first person I'd met in Newport. Technically true, I guess; as Taylor hadn't given me her name that morning.

''You're both nuts, then.'' He shrugged at my glare, finishing his lunch. ''I'm just saying, getting up that early when it's not even a school day; sign that you need serious help.'' Now this was more like what I'd had in mind. I couldn't think of the girl naked when I was ticked at him for putting that look of uneasy embarrassment on her face.

''Weren't you at the diner that morning because you'd been out sailing at dawn?''

''What's your point?''

''I never sleep more than four hours.'' We both turned to look at her, she smiled, letting me know she'd caught on to the fact that my friend didn't mean half the stupid shit that came out of his mouth. ''It's unproductive.''

''I never do more than five.'' My reasons weren't as nice as hers, involving the things I'd had to learn about slumber, to survive. Always go to bed fully clothed, even shoes; because you never know when you'll have to run for it, and that meant only a few covers, so you don't get tangled up when you wake. Don't sleep so deep a footstep on carpet can't wake you, don't crash for more than a few hours, don't twitch around, and never, _ever_ make any kind of noise. Even when I'd had a completely safe resting place (and even now) I still couldn't manage what most people would consider a 'full night's' sleep and still was so silent when unconscious that Trey had observed that he finally understood what it meant to be 'dead asleep'.

''Exactly why I maintain that the two of you are mentally unstable. You don't sleep, you hang out with me….'' Seth paused, widening his eyes at her hopefully. ''You **are** going to hang out, right? I mean, I **want** you; as a friend, y'know, not the way some creepy pervert stalker would, no. You're a girl……'' I didn't appreciate him pointing out what I was trying (and failing miserably) to ignore, so I scowled at him. He didn't notice, being too focused on making his appeal. ''…….you could explain Summer to me and we could……….we could…….'' He turned to me expectantly, but the only things I could think of that** I** wanted to do with her didn't involve** him** being in the room. Shit.

I needed to find out something about her (what she looks like naked _stop it_) that was non-erotic, so I could pull my mind out of the fucking gutter long enough to get to know her as a person. My hormones calmed (a little) when I had the thought that we needed each other more as friends then fuck-buddies. Just because we were starting off platonic didn't take the sex off the table, I told myself sternly, and pushed aside the automatic mental image (bending a moaning Taylor **over** the table) before it could fully form.

''We're starting to get into the more complicated forms of math.'' She was saying, and I realized she'd been talking to me for a couple seconds, while I was off reigning in my libido. ''I was thinking…….maybe you could help? You said you were good at math, right?''

''My schedule's kind of tight.'' I didn't want to get into details because, as much as I didn't want the Cohen's finding out about my profession; the thought of Taylor finding out sickened and terrified me. There was a light in her eyes, when she looked at me, that I never wanted to see go away. I didn't know what it was or what it meant, but I wanted it to continue. So, with all this in mind, what could I say to explain that my time wasn't my own? Especially since I'd been spending so much of it with Seth? Wait, I had it. '' I'm studying for my S.A.T.-Ones.''

''Hey, that's great, dude, why didn't you tell me?'' My friend started to ramble about how this was the 'first step' to my getting into Harbor. I tried not to snap at him. Me in Harbor. Right. There was no way I'd ever be able to afford tuition, not even if I spent all of summer vacation in (someone else's) bed. I didn't have the heart to tell him so right then, with the fantasy of having me around to protect him filling his face. Later, when there weren't any witnesses to my crushing his hopes.

''Sundays? After coffee?'' And then there was the hope that refused to be crushed. She'd picked a good time, too; no one wanted to get laid on a Sunday morning. Afternoons, maybe, but not the morning, and certainly not as early as we'd be meeting. ''We could talk equations over breakfast?'' The girl just refused to back down, and it was just easier to nod then it would be to try and explain why I couldn't, especially since I could. ''Yay! It's a study date! '' She actually clapped her hands together excitedly, truly happy at my granting such an easy request. She was completely adorable.

Best part, the only thing going through my mind as she smiled at me was math, and not speculations on her measurements, either. Looked like I'd found that trick, the one to keep from thinking (constantly) about her hot little body.

Now all I needed was something to get her hypnotically sparkling eyes out of my head, and I'd be back to normal.

--xxx—

''Hello, Ryan.'' I pulled my gaze (reluctantly) away from the amusing spectacle of Zach being put through his paces by one of the professional strippers. Most of the problem was that the kid kept jerking away whenever the (perfectly straight) guy touched him. I was enjoying the hell out of the show, waiting patiently for my turn on stage; so I could co-ordinate the lighting with my routines. ''You've been spending a lot of time at the Cohen's.'' I dropped my eyes to the table, not wanting to glare at the boss. She'd put me next door to them, damn it; now I was gonna get grief over not blowing them off? Julie sighed, tapping her fingers on the surface (in my line of sight) to make me look back up at her. ''Kiki's been asking about you.'' Her tone was unreadable, but I was more confused than worried.

''Why would she ask **you**?'' That made absolutely no sense. I'd been careful not to react when my neighbors'd mentioned the boss's name in conversation, there shouldn't be even a_ suspicion_ of a connection.

''Because I hired your brother to give NewMatch a 'man's perspective'.'' I sighed with relief, nodding. At least I hadn't fucked up. It also explained why he hadn't been around much, lately. Between his cover job, his night work, and the 'administrative' end of things; no wonder it felt like I was living in that place alone. I'd taken to leaving the radio or television on all night, to give the illusion of company. Sometimes it even helped. ''Be careful, will you? They're starting to ask about where you work, where you're from; things like that.'' She seemed really concerned, and not just for the friendship she'd lose, if they found out what her profession actually was. I took a chance she was sincere and teased her a little.

''I'll just tell Seth I work at the Bait Shop.''

''You'll **what**?!'' Everyone stopped and looked over, the expression on Zach's face was eagerly twisted. Fucker. I flipped him the bird where Julie couldn't see and slid her my water, waiting until she got the shock under control. Waving everyone back to work, she grabbed the bottle and tilted it back. ''Hiring a minor to do a strip tease is_ illegal_.'' She whispered, taking another huge drink, looking like she wished it was alcoholic.

''Which is precisely what I'll tell him, when he jumps to the conclusion that I'm a dancer.'' She blinked, then started to smile, getting it. I wouldn't be lying, because I wouldn't be outright denying it; and we wouldn't be blown, because I wouldn't be **admitting** it, either. ''I'll tell him someone has to clean the place up'' totally true, it just wouldn't be me'' and he'll drop it. No one wants to hear about mopping up after the customers at a strip club. It's gross.'' She laughed at my tone, my scrunched-face impersonation of my friend.

''You're a genius.'' The woman shook her head, calming down a little. Her emerald eyes were still disturbed, I found out by what as she returned my drink to me. ''I've heard that a girl joined you for lunch, a girl not Summer.'' Oh, **shit**. Think, Ry, fast. There's gotta be a reason, some kind of reason for Taylor to be there that doesn't involve **you**.

''I wonder where you heard that.'' I muttered to buy myself time, glaring at the asshole on stage. His coach smacked him on the arm, talking about back-up moves, and I nearly jumped up and hugged the guy (the dancer, not the jock-ass) for the inspiration. ''Seth needs friends, and I won't be here forever.'' Julie blinked, looking shocked at my cynical bluntness. ''Sooner or later, something'll happen and I'll either be gone '' or he would, but I tried not to think about what could happen to him, unprotected as he was at that place ''or one or the other of us will break off the relationship.'' Like, say; if he ever found out what my job really was, or if I had to dump him as a friend in order to protect that career. Well, it would be more to protect my brother or my boss, but the end result would be the same. No more Seth/Ryan time. ''She's a back-up, a spare. Bonus: she's a girl. He's already asked her for help in figuring out how to attract Summer.''

''I should've known it would be something like that.'' She sounded relived, like she hadn't wanted to believe I was stupid enough to risk it all, trying to be a normal teenager, with a girlfriend and everything. That wasn't my life, we both knew it could never be. Silence descended as we watched the stage; her with a thoughtful frown (hopefully thinking of ways to punish her 'informant') and me with a smirk when I recognized the move he was being coached on as one of mine.

''Can I ask you something?'' I turned away from the entertaining sight of Zach stumbling over his own feet and leaned my forearms on the table. This moment might not come again, this comfortable sense of fellowship with this woman; so I needed to take full advantage of it.

''How did I get into this?'' She sounded resigned, she must get the question a **lot**. Probably had several little speeches prepared, depending on whether she wanted to share her story or not. Unfortunately, she was wrong, because that wasn't my question. I already knew the answers to that one, thanks to Trey; but there were other things I wanted to know, things no one else could (or would) tell me.

''Why do you care about Seth?'' I thought it was a little odd. From what I'd managed to piece together (overheard at the Cohen's), I knew her husband was Kirsten's high school sweetheart and that I was currently living in Julie's old house. The place had been remodeled (twice), so that wasn't as weird as it could have been. What** was** weird was her concern about the Cohen's only son, like he was a favored nephew or something. I'd shocked her with the question, but not as harshly as my teasing, earlier.

''When my husband…….'' She waited until I nodded, appearing relieved that she wouldn't have to spell it out for me. She must've had it bad for the guy; she still sounded messed up about him kicking it. ''Marissa, that's my oldest, took it particularly hard. She drank, skipped school, basically did every stupid thing she could to try and escape the pain of losing her father. Seth…….'' I waited, wondering what had happened to have the girl off at boarding school and the guy friendless and alone. ''Well, he stalked her.'' Her smile was inward; directed at her memories, not my startled face. ''He'd follow her around, make sure she got home all right, all of that. He was the constant presence that kept her from going too far and the shoulder to cry on, when she got to that point.'' Now I was worried. I knew my friend wasn't capable of doing anything to the bitch, so she must've done something to **him**, something that didn't leave a mark. The possibilities were sickening. ''She decided he was her boyfriend and tried to make him sleep with her.'' Ouch. ''Kiki wasn't pleased.''

''I'll** bet**.'' No wonder he didn't want any help with Summer, he was still trying to figure out what had happened with the **last** girl he tried to be friends with. I didn't want to ask my next question, but I had to know, and no way in hell was I asking Seth. No way in hell he'd even find out that I knew, not if I could help it. ''Did she….uhm.….'' Accusing the boss's daughter of forcing herself on someone (even though she'd just about admitted it herself) was bad; the kind of thing that got you jobs with ugly old fat women. Not that I'd seen any of those, here in Newport, but maybe they were all shut-ins.

''Didn't even get his clothes off.'' That didn't mean she hadn't scarred him, tainted his opinion of girls in general. Still, it was better than the nightmare scenarios my mind had been painting.

It was **def**initely better than **my** first sexual experience; half-asleep while some waitress-friend of my mom's…….

No. I wasn't thinking about that anymore.

''Got a picture?'' Julie looked really confused at my asking, and I shrugged, glancing away. ''Need to know who to be on the look out for, this summer.'' I quirked my mouth, tried to tease her again. ''Who to keep my hands off of.'' She snorted, but dug into her purse. She opened her wallet and held it out, showing me a shot of her, with her arms around a tall, anorexic looking (somewhat hot) blonde chick and a younger girl (twelve, maybe thirteen) with dark brown hair. The woman and the kid looked all right, but there was something …….._off_ about the teenager. Something that came through, even over film.

Something that reminded me of Oliver, of all people.

''Nice.'' I told her, wanting to ask the woman why her daughter wasn't locked up somewhere, for the safety of the community as well as her own good. The look on her face as she glanced at the photo before returning it to her purse told me the answer to **that **one.

For better or worse, good or evil, the girl was her daughter.

I guess love really was blind, just like they said.

--xxx—

''You were right…'' Alex bent over the table, taking in a deep breath ''…..this **is** fun.'' She made her shot, sending the number five ball rolling towards the corner. It fell into the pocket and she smirked at me as she sipped from her bottle of root beer.

''Remind me not to let you break, next time.'' I sulked at her, backing away from the table as she walked around it, lining up her next shot.

''Poor baby.'' She mocked, taking aim, tapping the cue ball into her target with a sharp _clack_ of ceramic. ''Must be hard on that fragile male ego, losing to a 'girl'.''

''Game's not over yet.'' I warned. The ball's path wasn't as smooth, this time (I could see it was gonna miss), and she cursed (inventively) when it bounced softly off the edge of it's goal. ''See?'' Smugly confident, I set down my own root beer and eyed the layout for my own shot; seeing the balls as colored points along even lines of trajectory.

I hadn't needed the extra practice session today (my routines were solid and the lighting guy easy to work with), but I'd shown up anyway, not wanting to miss the chance to see Zach (almost-publically) humiliated. Maybe his coach would even be teaching him more of my moves. The thought was especially pleasant, as Seth had been late to lunch, muttering about getting a handle put on the **inside** of his gym locker, so he no longer had to rely on the janitor (or the coach) to release him. He'd said he hadn't seen the guys who'd done it, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. Until I could figure out a plan to fix this situation, making sure that son of a bitch knew I was on to him (by glaring at him as he practiced) was the only thing I could do.

That, and his attempts to be 'sexy' as he danced were funnier than hell.

There were signs up, though, warning 'staff' that The Bait Shop would be closed until Friday, for fumigation. I'd seen Alex handing the keys over to the exterminators, and cursed the fucking Atwood luck that trashed my enjoyment of the day. Now I'd have to go back to the school, make sure that Zach wasn't using his unanticipated free time to lean on Seth again. But according to Jess (who hadn't known about the cancelled practice, either) the guy had gone to the beach. I wondered at the leniency of the school, letting these kids ditch their afternoon classes. It wasn't my problem, however; my problem had been peeling the (obviously stoned) bimbo off my arm so I could leave. The girl with the tattoos and the purple streak in her hair had seen my dilemma and come over, sending the other off to dry out. Then she'd turned to me and asked what I had planned; because** she** was bored out of her mind.

So I'd politely invited her over to have some 'real fun'. After pausing (I could practically see her wondering what freaked-out shit I was into) for a long moment, she'd followed me home in her jeep, trailing a little nervously after me into the rec room. Trey had bought me the pool table (used, some bar was getting rid of it) so that I could relax and play without people pawing at me. That, he'd said jokingly, was for when I was working or on stage; not for when I was shooting pool.

Asshole.

Alex had laughed when she'd seen it, relieved and delighted. With the music alternating between her tastes (current stuff like Killers and Phantom Planet) and mine (Journey and other 80's rock, mostly) we'd raided the fridge for the least-healthy snacks we could find (seriously, my brother needed to get **off** this body-is-a-temple kick, the food **sucked**) and started up the first round.

''Side pocket.'' I declared now, as certain of my skills **here** as I was on stage or in bed. More so; because there was no element of personal taste to interfere with the pure geometry of cue and ball, trajectory and momentum. You lined up your shot, applied the proper amount of force, and watched physics do the rest.

Beautiful.

''Hustler.'' My opponent griped, eyeing me sulkily as I laughed and went for the next shot.

''Be glad it's not poker.'' The cue tapped against the white sphere, setting things once more in motion. ''I'm even better at that.'' Cards never lied, after all; only the players. Calculating odds and determining probable hands had been something I'd learned long before my multiplication tables. The beginnings of my interest in math were at the poker table, because teaching me to play (and sharpening her skills against mine) was the only time my mother paid attention to me. Then I'd gotten hooked on the honesty in numbers, in the certainty of the results, if you just followed the rules.

It was nice to have one thing in my life that never changed, that was always the same, no matter what.

''Someone thinks well of themselves.'' Alex sighed, taking a seat in one of the chairs, resigned to watching me finish this round.

''It's the truth.'' I shrugged, deliberately muffing the next shot; knowing how boring it was to watch someone else endlessly pot balls. ''Sex, pool, stripping, and poker; it's what I'm good at.'' All I'm good at, an inner voice bemoaned, and I pushed the thought away. I hadn't invited her here for a mutual pity party, after all.

''Take your word on the other two.'' She jumped up to take her turn, taking aim. ''I don't gamble and you're not exactly my type.''

''I'm crushed.'' I told her sarcastically (maybe I'd been spending **too** much time with Seth, I never used to be this snide) and she laughed, pausing to make sure of her shot.

We didn't talk about work, and we didn't talk about our lives. We didn't even talk about preferences in music (aside from deciding what to play next) or gossip about the people we knew. Truth to tell, we didn't really talk much at all. Which was perfect, as far as I was concerned. As much as I enjoyed hanging out with Seth, I always ended up thinking too much after spending time with him. There was a voice inside me that said I was making a mistake, that I shouldn't be **doing** the things I was doing, that was stronger when he was around.

It was even louder when his parents were present.

I just wanted to do something that was fun (without taking off my clothes, for a change) and not have to **think**, after. Playing pool was okay, but having an opponent made it less creepy then playing by myself. Trey would've been more than eager to join me (despite how bad he sucked at it) if he'd been around. Of course, when he **was** around, all he wanted to talk about was work, to trade 'war' stories with me. Made our weekly work-outs a little difficult to get through, sometimes. My opinion of our clients wasn't very high, but I was starting to get the feeling that Trey's was even lower than my opinion of Zach and his friends.

Alex, it turned out; was a terrific choice for someone to just hang with, hassle-free. We didn't have enough in common for us to get close and she didn't need anything from me, any more than I needed anything from her. Hell, we'd probably end up falling into bed together eventually; but it wouldn't be anything other than another form of exercise (another way to alleviate boredom) if we did. Fuck-buddies, friends with benefits; that sort of thing. And that's if we managed to do it at all, Probably end up laughing hysterically and drowning any embarrassment in a couple of brews, someplace with a questionable health rating.

We set up a weekly game (my schedule permitting) and she took off for wherever as I headed out to pick up Seth. As nice as it was to have something go smooth and easy, I warned myself not to get used to it.

I was an Atwood, after all.

--xxx—

''I don't get it.''

''Summer.'' I greeted the girl falling into step with me as I made my way to the patio for lunch. I was still feeling a little guilty about how well the 'janitor' dodge had gone, last night, when Seth had wanted to set up something for the weekend. Most of my patrons, though, were scheduled for Saturday (day and night) with Friday's appointments being arranged around my (soon to start) stripping gig; so I'd really had no choice. Meredith was the exception to the rule because she was busy on the weekends with school sports and other activities with her family.

I **really** tried not to think about that.

Re-focusing my attention on the girl next to me (instead of the woman I'd fucked, yesterday) was easy, probably because I wanted to see what her game was this time.

''I mean, you could sit with **me**…..'' The brunette paused, making sure I saw her toss her hair back over one shoulder. I tried not to snicker at the practiced move. ''….and instead you choose to sit with the two biggest losers in school. It doesn't make any sense, Chino.'' Well, I guess I had a nickname. It beat Luke's (finally found out who **that** fucker was; the jock I'd punched at the diner) moniker of 'sunshine' which was particularly stupid coming from someone who was, himself, blonde.

''How do you know?'' I challenged, slowing my pace so we'd have time for this conversation. It was coming earlier than I'd thought, the questioning of my reasons for sitting with Taylor and Seth. Guess my remark about thinking for herself, earlier in the week, had hit home.

''I know you sit with them, I have eyes.'' She blinked them at me, trying to flirt and huffing out a frustrated breath when I didn't respond. ''And I know it doesn't make any sense, because I'm…….well, **me**; and they're………Cohen and Dorksend.'' Don't hit a girl, asshole. I chided myself, trying to unlock my jaw and unclench my fists. My reaction was instantaneous and it took me a minute to lock it down. Something in my face must've reflected my rage, because she started to look a little worried and moved back a step.

''I meant, how do you know they're losers?'' I snarled at her, wondering where the hell the automatic fury had **come** from. I'd certainly heard my friend called worse (death-breath, queer-bait, etcetera) so what the _**fuck**_? ''You've never spent any time with them, never tried to learn who they are.''

''Some things, you just know.'' I snorted at her assumptions, crossing my arms over my chest. ''Like, I know we could have some fun together.'' She was eyeing me again, and it was time (and past) to put a stop to** that** little game.

''I don't fuck stupid, it might be catching.'' She scowled, now irritated past her attraction. Good, maybe she'd be so angry at me she'd quit coming on to me, which would only be in all of our (me, her, Seth) best interests.

''What gives you the right to** talk** to me like that?'' She snapped, putting her hands on her hips. Yeah, she was pissed all right. She looked like she might actually throw a punch, so I countered with the unexpected: reason.

''What gives **you** the right to talk to** me** like that?'' She blinked, thrown off her stride by the seeming repetition of her own words. ''What gives you the **right** to say who I can sit with, or who can **talk** to me? Where do you get** off** on telling any **one** of us what to do?'' She opened and closed her mouth, the usual response when I let loose with words. People didn't expect me (sullen, brooding) to burst out with the insightful lectures, I guess. ''You don't care about us, you're certainly not our friend; so why don't you just leave us the hell alone?''

''What makes you think I don't care?'' Summer was whispering now, the brown eyes hurt and huge. I didn't want to be nice, no matter how big of an ass I felt like, being harsh with her. I had to, though, because if I was **nice**, she'd get completely the wrong idea. My plan was to make her examine her **own** actions (and thereby come to her senses) not read things into **mine**. Steeling myself, I bit out my response and walked away.

''Some things you just** know**.''

--xxx—

Pink was never a soothing color to me, before I moved to Newport. It was always a 'girly' color, or a sex-organ color, or a color that should be banned from even being worn (in eye-smarting shades) by the Geneva convention. Watching it merge with gold to light the sky with glory; I was rapidly re-evaluating my viewpoint on pink.

It had absolutely **nothing** to do with the shade of lip-gloss my companion had chosen to wear that morning.

_**Nothing**_.

I shifted position and thoughts, sipping my coffee. End of the second week in my new home, and I was settling in just fine. My new cell phone had a Blackberry-like feature that let me keep track of my schedule, what there was of it. Julie assured me that my time would start filling up, once summer began and people started cutting loose. Hell, if they'd been staid and reserved up until now, it was no **wonder** she had such a huge profit margin. I'd been instructed to start showing up at the NewMatch parties, supposedly to support Trey's new job as her junior partner in the business, but really to show off the new 'talent' to interested parties. I didn't mind, the only differences between being ogled at a party and at a strip club were the amount of clothes and longer staring time. Truth to tell, I was kind of looking forward to it. Just the one patron with no stripping (aside from practice, once a week) meant that I was starting to get bored, which wasn't so bad; but when combined with how pissed off I got, thinking about Zach and school and everything else……..

Yeah, I needed another release. Something more effective than beating up on (and making use of) the gym equipment. The body bag was starting to look worn out and lopsided, and the speed bag was hanging off the hook somewhat crookedly. Even good ole' Rosy Palm and her sisters couldn't keep up with my restlessness, despite the extra time (at least two hours a day) I was dedicating to getting myself under control. It wasn't all frustration over problems I couldn't fix, like Seth; or the emptiness of my days: spent alone in the library, in our new place, just wandering around. Most of it came from the fact that it was getting harder and harder **not** to think about certain things; more and more difficult to lock down my emotions, to stay in control.

Maybe I should float that 'fuck-buddy' idea past Alex, before the situation started to interfere with my ability to do my job.

Movement from beside me reminded me that I wasn't supposed to be my professional self, this morning. This morning was for me, the teenager; not me, the whore. A quick check showed the sun had finished it's display while I'd been thinking, so I stood and stretched out the kinks, tossing my cup. I held out my hand to help Taylor up off the bench. Not that she really needed it, but I was curious about that tingling sensation, the one I didn't think Seth had felt. Had I imagined it? I was watching carefully, because another question that had occurred to me was: did **she** feel it?

No, I hadn't made it up; because my imagination wasn't good enough to create the soft, sweet fire that traveled from her fingers (laid into my palm) through my entire hand and swiftly up my arm. In seconds, it filled me up, made me feel light-headed and covered my skin with electricity. Against my will (against all common fucking sense) my thumb stroked back and forth over her knuckles. There was a barely perceptible tightening of her grip and I saw her eyes widen, her lips part.

She felt it, too.

Well, did** that** answer your questions, dumbass? I remarked snidely to myself. Good, now let go before you start ravishing the girl in _**public**_. I really shouldn't have thought that, even silently, because the images that flashed across my mind tightened my groin, chasing every other thought from my head.

Seriously, let** go**. I licked my lips and I could swear I saw her pupils dilate as her gaze fixed on my mouth. That look made it a little easier to gather my willpower, because I didn't want this thing (whatever the hell it was) to be like the rest of my life.

I didn't want _**her**_ to be like the others.

**Let go**!

I didn't **quite** drop her hand like it'd burned me, but it was close. She seemed to realize what had almost happened; because she looked more relieved than hurt by my action. I jammed my hands deep in my jacket pockets and scolded myself for my idiocy, hoping she wouldn't notice the aching bulge in my jeans. Next time, jackass, wear looser pants and keep your fucking hands to yourself.

Seriously, if this was what happened when I took her hand, **whenever** I took her hand; I didn't **dare** to touch her, ever again.

It was just too dangerous.

''So…..breakfast?'' See? That's what happens when you do stupid shit like that, I scolded myself sternly. You start using your bedroom voice in your off-hours. I cleared my throat, trying to cover the huskiness of my tone as a reaction to the chill of the morning.

''Sure, sounds good, I'll meet you there.'' I could tell from the way her head was tilted that she knew something was up with me, but she let it slide. I think maybe she didn't want me asking why she sounded so breathless, herself; why her hand trembled as she discarded her empty coffee cup on her way to the diner.

Stop looking at her ass, moron.

Reigning it in as best I could, I started thinking of the equations we'd be covering that morning, the layout of the shops along the pier; **anything** to take my mind away from where it wanted so badly to wander. Shit, I even started counting my footsteps as I went to unlock my bike. The brainless repetition of my pace wasn't enough, so I began calculating how tall the rail was on the pier; the measurements of the benches and planters, the estimated height and weight of people walking by. **Something** in the jumble of numbers worked, because I was under control by the time I was securing my bike outside the restaurant. I was light-headed again, this time from relief. It was controllable. I still didn't know what the hell it was, but it was **controllable**.

Breakfast started out uncomfortable, at best. Thankfully, we had the perfect distraction from what (the fuck) had just happened. Math. In specific, Algebra. Taylor claimed that she was having trouble with it for the same reason I was struggling through the literary part of my S.A.T. studies. She theorized that there were two ways (more than, but she limited herself to our case) that the brain worked. You had the linear thinkers, like me; all ordered and logical with solid answers, predictable results. Then you had the people like her, who were more figurative in their thought processes, more poetic and free-form in the way they saw things. People who took directions like 'by the big green sombrero sign' rather than 'turn north onto Clover Street'. Her rambling about the differences in how we thought did more than just break the tension; it erased it entirely. We were able to talk, and it was so comfortable for us both, we lost ourselves completely in the conversation. About the fifth time the waitress interrupted our laughter to refill our coffees, we took the hint and re-grouped at the library.

Taylor hadn't told me where to meet her, I just walked automatically to that table like we'd arranged it. Weird, I was thinking; until she smiled. Then I didn't care if it was out of the Twilight Zone, or about anything else, except having that sight to look forward to every week. Hell, every **day** if she kept meeting me and Seth for lunch. Taking my seat, I opened her textbook and smiled back; and she blinked dazedly at me, for some reason.

''Let's get this thing started.''

--xxx--

**A/N: **Uh-oh the bunnies are stirring………….


	6. Ooops

Okay, so I was struggling, then I realized that the problem wasn't that the last chapter of NewLife wasn't right, it was that it should be the first chapter of the next story, Summer Loving.

So sorry that it's not the update you all thought it was. Will work on the next story soonest, promise. :


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